As The Crow Flies
by Syrenia
Summary: ‹Nolanverse; AU; Pairings Inside› A young woman finds a recently tasered Dr. Crane and takes him in, straitjacket and all, but it seems he doesn't quite remember everything he's done or most of who he is.
1. Prologue

**Title:** As The Crow Flies

**Subject:** Batman

**Genres:** Drama/Romance

**Sub-genres:** Action

**Front Summary:** ‹Nolanverse; AU; Pairings Inside› A young woman finds a recently tasered Dr. Crane and takes him in, straitjacket and all, but it seems he doesn't quite remember everything he's done or most of who he is.

**Summary:** ‹Nolanverse; AU; Pairings In Separate Section› A young woman finds a recently tasered Dr. Crane and takes him in, straitjacket and all, but it seems he doesn't quite remember everything he's done or most of who he is. And what's more, something in the back of his mind keeps whispering that it's dangerous to go outside. Not knowing who you are and keeping yourself holed up with only one person for such a long time can come with some interesting results.

* * *

**Pairings:**

**SPOILERS BELOW**

Jonathan/ScarecrowxChelsie/Crow(OC)

**END SPOILERS**

* * *

**Notes:** The "interesting results" phrase in the summary refers to something akin to Stockholm Syndrome. I'm not sure whether to call it that or if there's a better term, but you'll probably know what I mean when you read the fic, I hope.

**SPOILERS BELOW**

Jonathan, in this fic, has recently been tasered in the face by Miss Dawes.

I'm taking the liberty of AUness and saying that the tasering split his persona in two, making Scarecrow Jonathan's _alter ego_.

If you can't stand that for whatever reasons (because we all have our dislikes), this fic is not for you.

**END SPOILERS**

If you think Chelsie is a Sue, good for you.

You may complain all you like, but that won't stop me from writing this however I see fit.

You may also flame me, because I can't seriously stop you, but know that it will be a waste of your no doubt valuable time and I'll most likely just laugh at it and/or think you a moron.

Constructive criticism is welcomed, but may not be followed. I do this for fun, not to improve my writing, if I'm totally honest.

Also, I know about the animated show that's supposed to go in between the movies, but I'm not including it in the timeline. It wouldn't be strictly Nolanverse if I did, anyway.

If this kind of idea has been done before, sorry for doing it again. I don't read every fanfiction, so I can't know if I'm doing someone else's idea. Still, that doesn't mean I stole it. More than one person in the world can think of a similar idea.

Lastly, do not expect fast updates. I am by no means quick in my writing, and sometimes I take breaks from certain fandoms. Erratic behavior should be expected.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** This is where Author's Notes will go from now on.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Prologue - Into the Fog**

* * *

Chelsie was intrigued as she peeked out her closed window; there was a fog in the neighborhood that was certainly not a low-flying cloud cluster.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?

* * *

The woman peeking out her third floor apartment window was Chelsie Alice Crow.

Her hair was wavy and often a little untamed, the color brown. It was long, reaching to her mid-back, while her bangs were grown out. Such framed a heart-shaped face which had a small, rounded nose and full, pink lips. Thin and curved eyebrows rested above almond-shaped eyes of blue-grey.

Those eyes were like a storm at sea, colors swirled together.

At five feet and four and a half inches, she was awkwardly caught between being petite and average, but her small body would make you think she was the former. She looked fragile and her skin was extremely pale, making her seem like a porcelain doll in fairly modern attire.

Her outfits all consisted of jeans with bell bottoms and over-sized t-shirts of various blues, blacks, greys and whites. Meanwhile, her shoes were all sneakers.

And now that you know what our leading lady looks like, let's get back to the action, shall we?

* * *

Pushing a stray strand of hair from her line of vision, she watched dwellers below walk about in panic. Many buildings were up in flames and some were broken into during the chaos, but none of it seemed to drown out the twenty-five year old's curiosity.

Backing out from under her curtains, she turned back to her uncleaned and small apartment, battling her inner self with the idea of going outside to see what all the fuss was about.

Curiously, she thought she heard the neigh of a horse in the distance, but she shrugged off the notion and went across the room, entering her bathroom.

She looked in the mirror; her hair was a mess, her lips were chapped, her skin was ghostly pale and the eyes that stared back at her dared her to go out into the madness.

Grabbing a brush, she brushed down her hair until it became submissive. She then fiddled in a drawer and pulled out some lip balm, spreading it over her lips and smacking them twice before she capped the cherry lip balm and tossed it back in its place.

She had to at least look more presentable if she was going to go out and about.

* * *

Now outside her apartment building, Chelsie sniffed the air, taking in a whiff of the fog. It proved to be a mistake when she was suddenly confronted with all her fears. Snakes, spiders, bats, bugs, rats, mice and all other manner of creatures she found frightening, invaded her sight. Her initial scream, however, died in her throat.

Something in her mind clicked with small glimpses of clarity, whispering logical statements.

'_The fog caused this,_' her mind managed to grasp. '_It's not real... Not real._'

This reassurance was enough to send her walking through her terrors after she pulled her over-sized white t-shirt's collar up over her nose and mouth to filter the fog as much as possible. She then wandered about, not really sure what was real anymore, until she found a horse and a man tied to it somehow.

Naturally, she decided she should help him since she seemed able to think clearly enough to do so, Chelsie wandering over to him and freeing his foot from where it was caught. She then looked down at the man, some sort of burlap sack on his head, but the maggots coming from it repulsed her.

Was that another hallucination? She touched it to make sure, finding nothing there.

'_Hallucination,_' her mind confirmed calmly between frantic thoughts that were slowly dissipating.

Regardless of the sight before her, she reached to his neck and found his pulse. He was alive, she found, but the fabric of the sack looked to be singed.

'_Wake him up,_' whispered her conscience, all frayed thoughts floating away as clarity took over.

She spoke softly as she shook the man before her by the shoulder, "Hey. Wake up. I'm here to help you, so please wake up."

* * *

Jonathan felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him carefully, waking him from a nightmare hell full of bats, a bat man spraying him with fog, and some infuriating woman tasering him in the face.

Who that woman was, who the bat man was, and the events themselves registered no memory in his mind, but he knew he hated bats.

Speaking of unregistered memories, he could recall his name and the title of doctor before it, but everything else seemed to be missing entirely. He knew his name but not _who_ he was. Then the thought registered that he was once in the field of psychiatry, but that was all he could recall.

Then, a small voice in the back of his head whispered menacingly, '_Scarecrow... I'm the Scarecrow._'

His eyes blinked open and slowly focused, settling on a woman with brown hair and blue-grey eyes.

* * *

"Are you awake yet?" Chelsie asked, removing her hand from his shoulder.

She then noticed he was wearing a rather torn up straitjacket and realized such was never a good sign, but it was now too late to worry over such as that.

"Who are you?" the man suddenly asked, startling her.

"I'm Chelsie Crow," she answered, eyes dancing wildly as she fought the visions before her. "I thought you might need some help... And the street isn't exactly a safe place to be, especially now."

"Do you know who I am?" Jonathan questioned, slowly sitting up.

She blinked, a little bewildered by such a question, but answered his query, "I'm afraid not. I just found you on a horse and in a cut up straitjacket in the middle of the street... Do you know your name?"

That was about the _only_ thing he knew for certain, so he answered confidently, "My name is Jonathan Crane."

"I see," she muttered, moving to stand before him.

Chelsie then held out her hand to help him up off the road.

He took her offered hand, moving to his feet and releasing it once he stood, his hands brushing his clothing of unseen dirt.

"I have an apartment nearby," she said, blinking erratically at the visions. "You can stay with me, if you like."

As he began to reach up and take off the burlap sack, she protested, "I'd leave that on if I were you. The fog out here is causing hallucinations and you seem unaffected, so I can only guess it's because of that mask."

"I see," he replied, looking around the street and seeing burning buildings and broken windows.

Without a word, Chelsie turned around and began her trek back to her apartment complex, certain the man would follow if he wanted somewhere to stay. If not, it made no difference to her.

Jonathan watched her walk off a moment before following behind her; he decided he should accept her offer.

'_It's not safe for us to be in public,_' the Scarecrow had told him.

* * *

Opening the door to her apartment, Chelsie let Jonathan walk inside, coming in after him and closing the door. She then locked it and hooked the chain before turning around to find Jonathan in the middle of the small room, mask now in his hand.

She only recognized that he had the brightest electric blue eyes she'd ever seen and that his hair was a very dark brown before turning and walking into the adjacent, open kitchen on the right.

"You can sit down, if you like," she offered, grabbing a bottle of water from her refrigerator and then moving to a cabinet.

Opening the cabinet door, she pulled out a tray with seven pill boxes - one for every day of the week, each with four sections - and took out the pill box of the day.

Taking her nighttime medication, she turned around to notice Jonathan in the small kitchen with her. He seemed particularly interested in what she was doing.

"I just took my anti-depressant, Wellbutrin, and something for anxiety that I can't pronounce the name of without biting my tongue," explained the woman.

Jonathan then realized his interest must seem peculiar, so he hastily explained, "I remember that I worked in the field of psychiatry."

"Oh," she said, mouth frozen in an 'o' for a few moments before she turned around and went to her pill box, putting it away.

"I take things for clinical depression, social anxiety disorder, bipolar disorder and schizophrenia," she listed to him. "I'm also diabetic, if anyone wants to know."

Turning to face him, she leaned her back against the counter, "I guess you'll be rooming with me until you remember yourself, so here are my house rules: If I'm in my room and the door is shut, knock and wait for the okay to enter. If I don't answer, leave me alone. If I tell you to go away, do as I say. If I ask what you want, state your business in a direct and to-the-point manner."

"To explain, I sometimes can't handle interaction with others and isolate myself in my room, a.k.a. my lair," she told him. "Violating anything I just said could make me go psycho."

"Understood," he replied, storing that information away for future use. "Where will I sleep?"

"You can have the couch," Chelsie said, eyes shifting to it briefly.

After an exchange of pleasant "good-nights," both parties went to bed, Chelsie a bit overwhelmed by her new roomate and Jonathan wondering who he was.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** All the stuff about Chelsie's daily rituals is just to get an idea of who she is and what she does all day. If it bores you, just skip it.

I drew on my own life for inspiration, especially with the leopard print addiction Chelsie clearly suffers from. D:

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter One - Daily Routine**

* * *

The next day, Chelsie woke up at eight AM as usual to her radio alarm clock belting out the lyrical stylings of Sheryl Crow's _All I Wanna Do_.

Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her head, brushing back her hair with her slender fingers.

'_Shower?_' her mind asked quietly.

She knew it wasn't a suggestion, but rather an inquiry on if this morning was the appropriate time to take a shower.

"Took one last night," she answered aloud, throwing back her leopard print covers and black sheets.

Looking over, she saw the stuffed animal she always slept with and put him in his usual place, lying against her two pillows with leopard print pillowcases.

He was a white, Christmas moose with a big, red ribbon tied around his neck as if to signify his status of being special. His name was Daemar, but she usually just called him Moosie.

She stood up, slipping on her slippers, turned off her radio and did a few stretches, watching herself in the full body mirror on the back of her bedroom door.

Her pajamas were leopard print, the sleeves of the top covering her hands to the tips of her long, slender fingers, her long, black nails jutting out from underneath. Her slippers that were one size too big for her were _also_ leopard print.

_Clearly_, the woman loved leopard print.

Yawning, she bent backwards, cracking her back. Then she turned her head left and right with her hands, cracking her neck. She then cracked all her fingers and both big toes. Such was part of her morning ritual.

"Now, let's find our center, _shall we_, Moosie?" she asked the stuffed animal who, of course, did not respond, but she liked to pretend he did.

He always agreed with her on everything and was the nicest personality in her life.

Kneeling, she placed her hands to the floor and slowly moved until she stood on her hands, closing her eyes. Once balanced, she lifted one hand slowly and placed it behind her back. This was how she meditated.

"Supreme gods, bless us so that calamities do not befall us," she recited her daily prayer.

"May there be peace and happiness and long life, and may our descendants prosper and become notable, not through fortune or fame, but through love and deed.

May our rice fields flourish and our silk worm cultures thrive; may our work be blessed in your eyes.

May evil spirits be banished and ghostly auras destroyed.

Divine talismans hold something unfathomable; they settle eternally in the courtyard. Their tally... miraculous. Numerous in the past, blessings impossible to put into words.

May the gods protect us all of our days.

May Heaven, Earth and Water guard all living things.

May all constellations sustain and protect me.

May all the seasons of the year, all hours of our days, be free of disaster, innocent of harm.

May the stars of good come, and the stars of evil... disperse..."

Three seconds later, her alarm clock CD player came on and played sounds from forests to rain to the waves of the sea.

Slowly, she fell into a meditative trance, but remained perfectly balanced, never wavering.

In exactly one hour, the CD changed from natural sounds to Nightwish's _Lagoon_. Chelsie sang along, unknowingly, until the song ended and a female voice replaced it.

"You will awaken," it said in a soothing alto tone, "at the count of three with courage and strength. One, two, three."

Chelsie's eyes opened abruptly and she slowly moved out of position until she sat comfortably, Indian style on the floor.

The same voice on the CD began again, "Today is Monday. Gemini are lucky during the seventh, fourteenth and twenty-first hours after sunrise. Please, let us recite our morning prayer to the Gemini Goddess, Athena."

Chelsie began to recite with the voice, "Out of the chill dark, rising hope, bright and wide, as long as, Great Athena, you are on my side. Another day, another mission. Help me away from Hubris to gain some proper vision. A good morning wish for you, my Goddess, the birds again full of scintillating songs, worshiping in hearty throngs."

The voice praised, "Very good, Gemini Sister. I now leave you with this inspirational quote: "The first step to wisdom is silence; the second is listening." May you have a blessed day."

With that, the CD ended and Chelsie stood up, walking to her small, blue CD player and turning it off. She then looked to her alarm clock to read the red digits.

"Nine twenty on the dot," she said with a smile. "_Now_ what?"

'_Coffee,_' offered her mind most helpfully.

* * *

Chelsie's bedroom door opened, said woman padding out and shutting the door behind her. She looked to the right where the black, leather couch sat facing her and found no strange, amnesiac doctor lying there. Turning her head, she looked to the door to her left and found it was shut.

'_In the bathroom?_' her mind wondered, but her feet carried her into the kitchen.

Once her coffee was done, Chelsie added six sugar cubes, a little milk and two ice cubes. When all said and done, her "coffees" were more like lukewarm frappucinos.

She then made a breakfast by buttering bread slices and placing squares of American cheese between them, heating them in the microwave for one minute. This was what she called "cheese sandwich melts," a perfect food for someone who couldn't cook well.

Taking her food, she walked to the bar that made up one "wall" of the kitchen, sitting on a stool and eating her breakfast. She turned on her wireless laptop that had been sitting on the bar counter and clicked away until she brought up Myspace, searching under videos, and bringing up the newest subtitled episode of her current obsession, the anime Naruto.

Even after she had downed her coffee, ate her cheese sandwich melts, and finished watching Naruto, the doctor had not left the bathroom.

"Did he drown?" she wondered aloud. "Did he fall in the toilet?"

Shrugging, she turned back to her laptop and checked her dragons on the Dragon Cave website.

Just as she did so, the bathroom door opened, Jonathan walking back into the main room.

He noticed Chelsie sitting at the bar and walked over, sitting one seat apart.

She looked over to him, "Good morning. Have you remembered anything?"

He shook his head, "Nothing of great significance."

The brunette woman sighed, then turned to her laptop and brought up Google, looking up pages on amnesia.

"Thank the internet gods for Google and wikipedia," she mumbled, reading the wikipedia article on amnesia. "It seems that you have retrograde amnesia. Possible dissociative amnesia. This really doesn't tell us much and you should probably see a therapist about this."

"No. I don't know why, but something tells me it would be dangerous to be seen in public," he replied warily.

She smirked, "Seeing as I found you in a _straitjacket_, I'll believe that notion."

She then noticed something new. He was wearing glasses.

"Where'd you pick up the glasses?" asked the woman curiously.

"I found them in my pocket," Jonathan told her. "I apparently have bad eyesight."

"I see," she said, tapping her long, black painted nails to the countertop. "_So_... What do you intend to _do_ all day?"

He thought a few minutes on this question as he looked around his surroundings before replying, "I don't know."

* * *

Jonathan and Chelsie spent the day talking and watching television and movies on her flat screen TV, but when evening came, her radio alarm clock went off.

"Gotta go do my evening ritual," she explained, hopping up from the couch and going into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Putting on the evening CD, she sat on her floor and listened to the voice that greeted her.

"Hello, Gemini Child," said the woman's voice from that morning. "Has your day been blessed? Let us now meditate to the rhythms of our Mother Earth."

Chelsie moved her hands into the yin-yang symbol and closed her eyes as sounds of the earth took over the room for one hour. Once the hour was up, the female voice returned.

"You will awaken by the count of three, feeling rested and renewed," said the voice. "One, two, three."

Immediately, her eyes opened and she released the hand seal.

"Let us pray to Athena. Recite the prayer with me," the voice prompted.

"Completion of another day. Help me, Great Athena, to spend time in a noble way, in winds of trouble not to sway," Chelsie recited. "Evening blessings for my friend from the beginning to the bright day's end. I hope that there's some use to be found in the distances I've traveled over ground. Soon the Night will descend, and the chill abyss infinite above will not devoid us of our love. We will stay true for you, amidst the darkness lit by stars - our lantern oil in sacred jars."

"Very good, Sister Gemini," praised the disembodied voice. "I now leave you with this inspirational quote: "Don't let someone become a priority in your life when you are just an option in their life. Relationships work best when they are balanced." May you have a blessed evening."

She stood up, went to the CD player and turned it off, switching CDs. Then she went to her bedroom door, only to find Jonathan behind it. It seems he was eavesdropping on her evening meditation and he looked embarrassed at being caught.

"I was... curious," he offered lamely.

She smiled a little, "It's fine. I'm not worshiping _evil_ or anything..."

"What _do_ you worship?"

"All pagan gods," she replied softly. "Athena is my Ruling Mother, though. She's the Goddess of wisdom and war."

They talked of religion in her room for hours - one pause for her to take her medication and eat - before her alarm went off once more.

"Out, please! Night prayer and then sleep," she announced, ushering him out and closing the door firmly.

She turned off her alarm then turned on her CD player and sat on the floor, Indian style, the familiar female voice filling her room.

"Hello, Child of Athena. Tonight, we will pray to Her before bed," the voice said. "Please recite the prayer with me."

"The highest place, darkest black and blue. Studded stars in dark solo space, it's sacred through and through," Chelsie recited softly. "It's a glance at infinity past for infinity future, too. Vast magnificence, timelessness, darkest black and blue. Mighty Athena, as I stare into the heavens I realize I am small and frail, liable to succumb to any storm, to any cosmic gale. My fate is in the lap of the Gods as is the whole of the human race. Let me sleep in your dread shadow under the watch of your noble face, close to your great strong hands, protected through the chilling night whilst on these shadowed lands free from flight or fright."

"Very good, Gemini Sister. I now leave you with an inspirational quote: "Life isn't about finding yourself; it's about creating yourself." May you have a blessed night."

Chelsie got up, turned off the CD player, switched CDs and then promptly got into bed.

Such were the daily rituals of Chelsie Alice Crow.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** Kinda quick jump, but that's the way it's coming to me.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Two - Attachments**

* * *

Six months passed without incident and Chelsie could now say she knew Jonathan much better after many long talks each day. They seemed to take to one another quite well, to her surprise.

She had no job, her family supplying her with a generous "allowance" from far away every week, and she rarely left the house, so she had plenty of time to spend with him.

Today was such a day, but her on-again off-again boyfriend decided to come over unannounced with his friends.

They were all goths, clad in blacks and greys, their hair dyed black like their hearts, or something similar that you'd hear from an amateur poet.

Jonathan disliked the entire group and couldn't help but watch how they treated Chelsie. The only reason his friends would associate with her was because of her tie to Damian.

Behind her back, when they thought she couldn't hear, they'd insult and laugh at her. Chelsie, however, always heard. He could tell she heard by a slight twitch every time, as if her body was resisting some instinctual retaliation.

She probably wanted to slit their throats or something otherwise gruesome, and he couldn't blame her.

Her boyfriend was actually little better than his friends; he treated her like his personal servant and came to her apartment whenever he wanted, no warnings in advance. Jonathan could only assume Damian kept her as a girlfriend because of the fact that she came from a wealthy family and because he liked to have ownership of her body.

The younger man of twenty-six constantly touched her in ways she seemed to deem as affection, but were more like obscene gestures in Jonathan's eyes.

He didn't understand why those were her only friends when she seemed to be a nice, friendly person. The problem, he assumed, was her fragile, trusting nature and her confusion about the meaning of someone being her friend or someone showing her affection.

Had she never learned of true affection and friendship in her lifetime?

* * *

Damian used his key to Chelsie's apartment, walking in with his four friends.

He, a five foot, six inch tall man with short, spiky and black-dyed hair, wore black t-shirts with goth band logos. His pants were always black jeans with chains hanging down, as per the goth fashion. On his wrists were spiked, black bands, a collar matching their description around his neck. He was as pale as a vampire as well and his nails were painted black, though they were chewed ragged and too short.

His friends dressed in much the same fashion, three of them females and one male. Collectively, they were a stark contrast to Chelsie's presence and appearance.

"Yo," Damian said, nodding to Chelsie who sat on the couch beside Jonathan.

"Hey," she replied, accustomed to his random entrances.

His hazel eyes flickered to Jonathan, then rested on his girlfriend.

"We're crashing here a while," he announced, not even bothering to form his intent as a question. "Got anything to eat?"

Chelsie stood up, "Yeah, I'll make you some snacks."

"Great," he returned with a grin, flopping down on the couch and putting his leather boots up on the coffee table.

His friends sat on the floor, the girls talking about Chelsie's fashion sense and laughing at her as she fixed them food.

* * *

'_They have terrible manners, much less a proper sense of gratitude,_' Jonathan complained to his Scarecrow.

He was still unsure of who or _what_ Scarecrow was, but they often conversed, and he seemed to know more about their past than he let on.

Scarecrow scoffed, '_As if I could give a damn. But since you seem so __**concerned**__, why not __**rescue**__ your pretty little doormat?_'

'_And how do you suggest I do __**that**__?_' inquired the doctor, his eyes following Chelsie as she flitted around her small kitchen, attempting to ignore the chatter of the three girls.

'_How much do you like this __**Chelsie**__?_' Scarecrow questioned with a hint of disdain.

Jonathan contemplated this question in thoughts that did not reach his counterpart.

He certainly cared about her well-being as she'd been nothing but kind to him, even though he'd first appeared to her in a torn straitjacket with an odd mask over his head. Anyone else, he gathered, would have left him for dead.

But how much did he care for her? So far, she was as close as a very good friend.

'_She's a very close friend,_' he told the Scarecrow.

'_Do you think she could be something __**more**__ to you?_'

'_What are you suggesting?_' asked Jonathan, fairly certain what the Scarecrow was trying to say, but dodging the question.

Scarecrow growled impatiently, '_I don't have a great deal of knowledge about love or attraction of this fashion, but I'm observant and have an above average intellect, both of which concur that you're __**attracted**__ to the woman._'

'_Attracted?_' echoed Jonathan.

'_She's not the __**prettiest**__ female I've ever seen, but she's not bad to look at, I suppose. And considering your loss of memory, you no longer have as much control over these matters as you once had,_' Scarecrow informed the doctor. '_If you want her enough to keep watching her like this, you might as well __**take**__ her._'

Jonathan averted his eyes from her, Scarecrow cackling at his guilty feelings.

The Scarecrow then sighed in defeat, '_I admit an attraction to her myself. She's so weak and helpless with so much __**fear**__ just waiting beneath the surface to bubble forth from those pretty little eyes. And yet, she has a strong immunity to the toxin..._'

'_Toxin?_' questioned the doctor, never having heard of this before.

'_Nevermind that!_' snapped his alter ego before it calmed down slowly. '_To rescue her, why not vie for her affection? When you have her __**adoration**__, make her get rid of the boy and his idiot friends._'

Jonathan mentally sighed, frustrated with this line of conversation.

He then noticed Chelsie bring snacks to Damian and his friends, watching the younger man pull her into his lap, his hand petting her thigh and making Jonathan's brow twitch.

'_**Jealousy**__,_' whispered the Scarecrow before a bout of laughter. '_Let me tell you all about who you used to be... Then we can begin to make your lovely little plaything want you __**back**__._'

Laughter echoed in the doctor's head, Jonathan getting up and leaving the room, going into the bathroom and shutting the door.

* * *

In the bathroom, Scarecrow detailed everything he could remember to his doctor, slowly releasing the memories to him one by one by one until Jonathan regained the piece of himself he had lost.

His eyes turned cold again as his painful past played out before him like a dream, reminding him why he was so cold to everyone and everything. No one in his life had ever given him happiness or love, but rather hate and pain.

'_Chelsie, Chelsie... Remember your Chelsie,_' the Scarecrow whispered helpfully, turning Jonathan's mind from the dream-like memories to the clearer visions of the brunette, stormy-eyed woman in the other room.

He could remember her kindness to a complete stranger, who no less appeared to her in a torn straitjacket with a burlap mask over his head like some Halloween costume.

She didn't allow her terrors that only she could see to control her mind, either.

He now marveled at how she worked through her fears and made them register as hallucinations.

It was truly amazing how her mind countered the toxin.

But his thoughts digressed, remembering all her kind gestures over the last few months...

* * *

He could remember being half awake in her cold apartment as he lie on her couch, Chelsie waking up and wandering through the room, taking notice of him. Even in her sleepy, disoriented state, she thought to go to the closet and take out some blankets.

She had carefully tucked him in as snugly as possible and muttered a "sweet dreams" before waddling off amusingly toward her room.

He even remembered holding in a laugh at seeing her walk into her door and shake her head comically as she tried to find the doorknob in the darkness.

* * *

He remembered how she put up with his vegetarian tastes, letting him have salad, even though the smell made her extremely nauseous, which he'd found entirely too amusing.

* * *

Then there was the time he confessed that he might be a criminal of some sort and that having him in her apartment was possibly very dangerous, and not to mention illegal.

She had told him not to worry too much - that if he turned out to be from Arkham Asylum, she'd harbor him until he decided to leave and let him go free.

She thought his possible insanity was none of her business.

* * *

There were many more memories he recalled, flashing through his sight like stills.

Scarecrow muttered, ceasing the visions, '_Do you want to keep her?_'

Jonathan stared into the bathroom mirror, icy blue eyes peering back at him from behind his glasses.

He cut off his thoughts from his now _split_ personality, deciding to contemplate his answer carefully.

Chelsie was the only one who he could say showed him some kindness in his lifetime, and he gauged his feelings, finding gratitude for the brunette.

Even as he'd not been _quite_ himself during his stay with her, he could remember that he was still guarded emotionally to some extent - still bookish, deeply analytical, stubbornly logical, thoroughly egotistical, completely practical for all intents and purposes and just generally anti-social to a fault.

No one had ever gotten along with him because of each of those traits, but she had braved the waters and did her best to befriend him while still respecting his privacy and personal space.

Her easy-going, go-with-the-flow, roll-with-the-punches mentality that stretched to the point of disbelief had made him intrigued enough about her from the beginning, he realized, that his amnesiac self had blindly stumbled into conversing with her regularly.

He recalled that in the last few months, there were obvious signs that his attachment to her was growing.

Moving into her personal space, sharing a touch with hidden desire, gazes that lasted a little too long, filled with a denied longing: all of those were standard, crystal clear, tell-tale symptoms of crossing the border of friendship into the territory of romantic sentiment.

It took regaining the entirety of his cold, stoic nature and the memories of his tormented past and sordid deeds to recognize what had been happening to him in the last six months.

Now that he knew, the question was what he intended to _do_ about it.

It wasn't too late to run away from this disaster-in-the-making, and to spare her any involvement in future deeds of an undoubtedly unlawful nature (to say the least).

But just because he was cold and hard-nosed again didn't mean he had lost the feelings he'd had in his amnesiac form, and that troubled the doctor _immensely_.

He really should have lost any emotional attachment he'd formed now that he remembered himself, yet the feelings remained with him.

Knowing who he was, how could he involve himself with her if he actually cared for her well-being?

But then again, if he ever persuaded her to get rid of those faux friends and useless boyfriend, what would she do _without_ him?

His gaze fell from the mirror to the sink; she would be completely alone without him, and he didn't see how that would be in her best interest.

Quickly, he turned on the faucet, icy cold water pouring as he removed his glasses. He then cupped his hands under the freezing stream before splashing the water on his face, hopping it would somehow wake him up and give him clarity.

It didn't provide any help; the feelings were still within him.

Defeatedly, he closed his eyes and sighed an uneven breath, shuddering at his own helplessness to his emotions only because he was in the confines of four thick walls, blocking out everyone else.

Leaning forward, he gripped the sink for support, eyes boring into his reflection in the mirror.

Jonathan knew he couldn't simply leave her, but he knew he couldn't stay. To clarify, it was the _Scarecrow_ that would never let him stay in his current situation.

That only left taking Chelsie along for the ride, whether or not she was willing to follow the now prominent question in his mind.

If he stuck to Scarecrow's earlier suggestion to make the woman adore him, it would be easier to make her leave.

To make the plan work, however, he would need to get rid of Damian and his lackeys.

The doctor let his thoughts reach his counterpart once more, '_She __**needs**__ me... And I now need __**her**__._'


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter is gonna help you get to know Chelsie better and explain why Jonathan feels like he cares for her.

Sorry if the story skipped time too fast in the last chapter, but that's the way it came to me and I couldn't figure out what to put in between.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Three - Needs**

* * *

It had been two months since Jonathan had regained his lost memories, Chelsie now in her bed one night, staring at her ceiling where there rested glow-in-the-dark stars.

On this particular night, she found she couldn't go to sleep for thoughts about Jonathan's changing behavior over those two months.

She had noticed the doctor attempting to do small, nice gestures.

He had tried cleaning the main room of her apartment to please her, but her reaction hadn't been what he'd been looking for, she gathered.

Chelsie was a strange person, one strange part of her personality being that she was a "reverse neat freak." She couldn't stand her rooms being too clean, so finding her main room suddenly neat and tidy gave her a mini-breakdown, Chelsie having recreated her mess.

In hindsight, she knew that must have been awkward for him and was terribly rude of her, but at the moment she hadn't been able to think that clearly.

Then she came back from the outside world one evening and he happily announced that he'd beaten her highscore on her favorite video game, Primal Rage.

He had looked as though that news should have made her proud or something along those lines, but it only depressed her. That score she'd worked so hard for was the first time she'd tried to do her best at something.

Instead of feeling challenged and impressed by his skill, she holed herself up in her room for a few days due to a bout of depression solely caused by his announcement.

'_I wish I could give him the reaction he's looking for,_' she thought to herself with a soft sigh, eyes closing slowly as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Jonathan lied on his back on the couch under his usual assortment of blankets, staring up at the ceiling.

After his failed attempts at pleasing Chelsie, Scarecrow had finally posed a question that made the doctor think.

His alter ego had asked why he cared so deeply for the delicate brunette.

As of now, with thoughts cut off from prying ears, he pondered his reasons.

Over his time with her, Jonathan had come to find that Chelsie was a particularly _clueless_ person. She had no real social skills, even though she was kind and easy-going.

Chelsie didn't know how to act around other people, and her blunt, honest nature probably hindered her from any meaningful relationships, if she had ever really tried to have any.

He found out she was well-tempered so that she could easily shift through emotions, feeling more than one all at once, but sometimes feeling nothing at all.

She was a broken soul, and you could tell so from her expressive eyes if you could look beyond the blank stare she tended to wear so well.

Honestly, she was just the kind of soul who could turn into a criminal like himself.

Once he got past the blank look in her stormy eyes, he could read her hidden emotions.

At first, she had been uncomfortable around him, but when she saw that he wasn't going to bite, she relaxed and became more at ease with being herself rather than pretending she was someone strong and independent.

Chelsie was the kind of person who both desired and _needed_ someone to latch onto in life, obviously trying to fill that void with her rather pitiful attachment to Damian.

When Damian wasn't around, Jonathan could say he saw the _real_ Chelsie who didn't monitor her words and thoughts constantly.

Sometimes, in her relaxed state, she said things that made no sense to even herself, and she often laughed at the strange things she said.

She wasn't really unintelligent, he gathered, but her thoughts went uncontrollably all over the tracks, so to speak, and sometimes her trains of thought collided with each other.

When she was honest with her personality, he found she didn't try too hard to impress him with her knowledge or thoughts.

And she really _did_ have bipolar disorder according to her personality which could easily fluctuate between manic and depressive at the drop of a hat.

But what about her was it that made him feel the way he felt?

He guessed to himself that it had to be the way she cared for him before he ever returned the feeling.

Who else but Chelsie Alice Crow would brave the night when a toxic fog caused chaos below her home? Who else would have the mental tenacity to have clarity in the midst of vivid hallucinations? Who else would take a stranger in a straitjacket off the street and offer him free room and board?

And who _else_ could possibly know exactly _who_ he was, as he had explained to her tonight, and still allow him in their house?

She was an anomaly from the usual Gotham citizen, and probably from the whole of the human race.

Not many people were _daring_ enough to harbor an escapee from Arkham Asylum, risking both their life in the face of such a criminal and their freedom for _aiding_ said criminal.

And they also had one thing - one very _important_ thing - in common.

They were both completely alone before they found each other.

Sure, she pretended to have Damian, but deep down inside of her, Jonathan knew she only kept contact with the young man because he was her only tie to the outside world.

'_Soon,_' he thought, smiling to himself, '_she won't have to deal with that boy any longer..._'

* * *

Knife to his throat, Damian's back pressed against the taller doctor who held him captive.

He had barged into Chelsie's apartment as per usual, but this time the brunette wasn't home and the other resident had taken his chance.

"Stay away from her," Jonathan commanded with a low growl, the knife barely cutting the skin, a trickle of blood flowing down.

'_Kill him,_' Scarecrow demanded giddily, yet his voice was still laced with malicious intent. '_**Kill**__ him. Make him __**bleed**__ for her._'

Jonathan almost went through with the prompt from the voice in his head, but the door to the apartment opened, Chelsie caught in the doorway, staring at the two with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

The doctor's hand retreated from the younger man's throat, and he backed away by a few steps. However, he still gripped tightly to the knife, his knuckles white.

Damian rushed forward and shouted at Chelsie in a mad panic, "That fucking shrink is _crazy_!"

"I'm not entirely sure he's _crazy_," she muttered in Jonathan's defense with an almost indignant look upon her face.

"You always defend that fucking doctor!" he shouted back, enraged by her calm response.

"Because you always _overreact_!" Chelsie replied loudly, visibly surprised by her own outburst as she daintily covered her mouth.

Hand falling, she recovered from her shock rather quickly, assessing the situation at hand, "A blade to your neck was a bit much, I'll grant, but maybe if you didn't make him _angry_..."

"You don't see him like _I_ do," he explained to the brunette, putting pressure to the small wound on his neck. "He's always staring at you, touching you, and standing between us like some overprotective _mutt_. The man's got _issues_!"

He brushed past her, almost knocking her out of the way, and headed out the door while saying, "I'm out of here."

Chelsie turned and watched him leave, a little bewildered by the whole exchange.

Slowly, she went to the door, closing and locking it before resting her forehead against the brown wood as a sigh flowed from her lips.

"Now I don't know if he'll even come _back_," she muttered to herself, turning around slowly only to be pinned to the door.

A hand to the door at each side of her, Jonathan cornered her and she looked up into his eyes, her own wide and conveying slight fear which the Scarecrow savored.

"That little boy with his little lackeys who take cheap shots at you are not important whatsoever," he told her matter-of-factly, finally fed up with her need to keep those so-called friends. "You're better off without that insignificant boy pawing at you and pretending you mean something to him."

He leaned forward, ever closer to her so that their noses almost touched.

"You've yet to learn the meaning of true affection, Chels, _but_," whispered the doctor, briefly pausing as his hands moved from the door and found her hips, "I can _teach_ you."

His following smile, Chelsie noticed, was twisted in an evil manner, the likes of which she'd never seen from Jonathan until that day.

It frightened her to see some gleam of madness in his eyes, but deep down in the confines of her soul, excitement stirred.

Chelsie, however, denied to herself that feeling and shivered at the doctor's contact.

She had thought that only _Scarecrow_ would act out in such ways and make Crane look like a madman, but apparently he was secretly just as insane as his other half.

"You're... acting a lot like Scarecrow," she told him in a small, wavering voice, half afraid of his reaction, but feeling certain the sentiment needed to be said.

After a moment of that statement sinking into his mind, he abruptly pulled away from her, standing a few feet away as his hands clenched and released repeatedly as if he'd no idea of how to react to such a simple, but meaningful observation.

Her stormy orbs stayed transfixed on one of his hands until he wordlessly turned and disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door softly with a following click of the lock.

Chelsie breathed a sigh of relief, mind running wildly with all the prior events until one thought stood out from the rest.

'_Is Damian's way of affection... __**wrong**__?_' she wondered with worry, biting her lower lip as she ruminated over the thoughts that followed in secession.

If Damian's affection wasn't true, then what was _true_ affection?

Did he think Damian didn't actually _love_ her?

If he didn't love her, did she even _know_ what love was?

Confusion building, tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to flow. He had made her doubt herself and Damian's relationship with her, all with one simple sentence.

* * *

Damian, not to be intimidated by Crane, came over with his friends the very next night, using his key to Chelsie's apartment to open the door, all of them going inside.

Chelsie - still in her leopard print pajamas, no less - watched from the couch where she was lazily sprawled out and leaning against Jonathan's chest. The doctor's arm was around her waist, hand to her slightly showing stomach, the forefinger of his other hand stroking softly under her ear.

Last night had been very _productive_ for the doctor who had come back out of the bathroom and talked things over with the brunette, explaining himself calmly.

He had assured her that he wanted to teach her true affection, further confusing her about her relationship with Damian until she relented and gave him permission to show her why Damian's type of affection was wrong.

Damian glared at the sight before him, Jonathan smirking back at him with an air of superiority.

"Why the hell are you letting him _touch_ you like that?" Damian demanded of Chelsie.

She sighed, rolling her eyes, "Stop being so jealous."

"Chelsie," Jonathan began softly so that only she could hear, "must we really _endure_ him and his group tonight?"

She purred lightly with a smile as his finger stroked under her chin, "What do you want to do?"

Jonathan now had her agreement that he was a permanent resident in her apartment and the underlying, unrecognized power of being the man of the house because Chelsie was very submissive and it was in her nature to follow the lead of a man, to his pleasant surprise.

What he wanted would take precedence over her own desires, thus giving him the power to remove Damian permanently at last.

However, he wanted to have her assured that it was also what she _herself_ wanted, so he softly replied, "You seem to prefer my manner of affection towards you over his obscene gestures. Am I correct?"

She nodded slightly, Damian and his friends watching the cozy-looking pair.

"Then why do you need him and his lackeys anymore?" he asked her quietly in a soothing voice. "You're obviously intellectually _superior_ to them, you're much _prettier_ than his female friends, and, really, it should be _you_ that has them all as servants."

"Even though I know you're using flattery to get what you want," she said softly, slightly surprising him and causing him to smirk, "I think you're right about not needing them anymore. I don't need _false friends_ and _his_ kind of affection, so you can take my key from him and kick them out."

He chuckled to himself, looking up at Damian, smirk growing wider.

Slipping out from under her, his hands held her back up carefully before he placed her against the arm of the couch. He then turned to Damian and his friends, his hands clasped behind his back as he squared his shoulders in an authoritative stance which he had used plenty of times at his asylum.

Chelsie simply watched silently with a small smile, allowing Jonathan to take control.

"I'm afraid you and your ilk are no longer welcome in this apartment," Jonathan announced, taking the apartment key from the younger man's hand. "I suggest you leave now."

Damian looked away from the taller man and met Chelsie's gaze.

"I think you should do what he _says_, Damian," she answered his unspoken question. "I don't need _you_ or your _friends_ anymore."

He spat his reply angrily, "Without me, you're nothing but a stupid, useless bitc--"

Damian was cut off abruptly by Jonathan's fist connecting with his face, the doctor's hand retreating before he shook it with a scowl.

"His skull must be extremely _thick_," Jonathan commented with double meaning, smirking all the while.

Chelsie couldn't help but laugh, Damian holding his right eye which would no doubt have a nice bruise later on. And as for his supposed friends, they took off out the door _without_ him.

Jonathan turned Damian around by the collar of his shirt and ushered him to the door, shoving him out into the hall.

"I recommend that you stay away from Chelsie henceforth," the doctor suggested. "Otherwise, you may acquire more than a bruise."

With that said, he shut the door in Damian's face and the two heard his footsteps hurriedly retreating.

* * *

Chelsie giggled from her place on the couch, Jonathan meeting her gaze with a satisfied smirk.

"That felt _so_ good and I really didn't even _do_ anything," she said merrily, feeling alleviated of a long-lived burden.

Jonathan smiled softly, gesturing her over to him, Chelsie hopping up from the couch and walking over to him until she stood before him, looking up into his eyes.

"Don't bring home anyone else," he said, reaching up and stroking her cheek. "When you need affection... come to me."

She nodded in agreement and his hand left her cheek, taking her by the hand. He then led her back to the couch, laying across it with his back to the arm and pulling her down in front of him.

She picked up the television remote, but he slipped it from her hand.

"No television," he said, putting the remote out of her reach and kissing the top of her head.

"Then what do you want to do?" the brunette asked, wondering what he had in mind.

He picked up the remote to her stereo and turned on some instrumental music, answering, "We should relax for a while; it's been a stressful day for you."

That said, his hands moved to her shoulders and he began to massage carefully, her body relaxing as she leaned against him, eyes half-lidded.

* * *

Scarecrow whispered to the doctor, '_**Scare**__ her. Make her __**scream**__. She's so __**beautiful**__ when she's frightened. Her fear is __**intoxicating**__._'

'_**No**__,_' Jonathan answered his other half firmly. '_She's intoxicating enough as it is. I don't want her to fear us. Not __**her**__._'

'_You __**know**__ you love to see her wide, frightened eyes,_' Scarecrow tempted him. '_Her innocent, beautiful eyes quivering up at you, her dominant mate - her __**master**__._'

Jonathan replied, '_No, Scarecrow. I don't want her to be afraid of us. I want her to feel __**safe**__, __**protected**__ and __**loved**__. When I have her, we'll leave this place to scare the rest of Gotham, and I'll hide her away. I'll protect her from the corruption and malice of this rotting city, and you and I will resume our experiments._'

'_I had thought you'd gone __**soft**__ on me, doc,_' said an amused Scarecrow, pleased at his words.

'_Only for her,_' the doctor assured his alter ego. '_It's irreversible. I __**need**__ her now. I __**want**__ her. I have to protect her; she __**needs**__ me..._'


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** This is going to give you a look into a _liiittle_ bit of their daily routine, showing you a bit of Chelsie's personality.

Also, just to give a heads up, the second part of this series will have the Joker in it. Well, actually, he'll make a short cameo in this one, but he won't be referred to as himself, I think. (It's in my head, not on wordpad yet.)

Of course, he's hard to pull off, but I hope I do okay with it when the time comes around.

Just know that he'll be the main canon villain in the sequel.

I needed to tell you now so you can decide if you wanted to stick this out or not.

And if anyone's bothering to read, how 'bout a review? I mean, throw me a bone, folks.

Like it, hate it, love it, want to gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon? Review and tell me.

It's a lot better to receive review alerts on my email account than the constant adverts I keep getting to take Viagra or enlarge my non-existent penis. :)

PS: I made Crane a vegetarian as a sort of shout out to Cillian Murphy (who played Crane/Scarecrow in the movies) because I heard he's a vegetarian from wikipedia and some of his more obsessed fangirls. I personally don't know his reasons for being a vegetarian, so for Crane, I just made it the usual reason that he's simply repulsed by meat. And, of course, my OC just happens to be a meat eater as a shout out to the authoress. :P

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Four - Jealousy**

* * *

"Morning," a sleepy-eyed Chelsie in silky, leopard print pajamas and bare feet muttered to Jonathan who sat on one of the stools to the bar.

He was wearing a dress shirt as usual with black slacks beneath - a curious combination - only wearing black socks on his feet.

It was lucky for him that she knew her way around clothes so well that she could find his size in anything without even measuring him or reading a dress size from a tag.

"Good morning," he replied in a pleasant tone, to which she scrunched her nose in distaste.

That was Jonathan for you - always the morning person, whereas Chelsie hated the light of day, much less its appearance over the horizon.

"Morning is _never_ good," she retorted, going to the cabinet and taking out her pill box.

He only gave a half smirk in return, well accustomed to her morning attitude.

After getting a bottle of coca cola and downing her medications, she looked closely at the interior of her refrigerator, sighing deeply. The shelves were bare, save week old milk no one dared to touch and a packet of hot dogs that repulsed the doctor.

"There's nothing in there," Jonathan said helpfully.

She took out the hot dogs, waving them in his vision and asking, "Did you _hide_ these again?"

He was prone to hiding hot dogs in particular because, as he had explained, he didn't want to know she was putting those particular ingredients in her mouth.

"Do I have to repeat the _ingredients_, Chels?" he questioned, pushing up his glasses as was the habit when he gained a serious look like the one he now wore.

The young woman sighed, "No, I remember them just fine."

"And if I can withstand the stench of your _salads_," she added with particular disdain on the last word, looking for an expiration date on the small package, "you can suffer the idea of small intestines of _sheep_ being consumed."

He sighed defeatedly, then questioned, "Why do you refuse to buy them with reconstituted collagen casings?"

"Say that term to any _normal_ person, and they'll ask you to please repeat your inquiry in _English_," Chelsie quipped, putting two hot dogs on a large plate before setting the plate in the microwave and punching in one minute, turning it on.

Turning back around, she faced him to answer his question directly.

"Like I told you, _any_ meat connoisseur will tell you to get _these_," she said, waving around the bag of hot dogs for emphasis, "or nothing at all."

He sighed, disgusted by her willingness to devour sheep intestines.

"How can you eat _salad_? It smells _awful_ and looks _disgusting_," the woman chattered, turning around as the microwave beeped.

She took out the plate, cutting up the hot dogs as he answered, "Salad isn't as terrible as you make it out to be. Why not _try_ it some time?"

The woman scrunched her nose with a snort, "When pigs _fly_, Jonathan. When pigs fly."

Happily enough, she hopped up to sit on the counter, slowly eating and savoring her hot dogs, grinning at his disgusted groans and sickened look.

Once she was finished, she slipped off the counter, putting her plate and fork in the sink and rinsing them off.

Turning back to face him, she announced with a little bit of excitement in her tone, "I have to go outside today."

"Why?" he questioned quickly, seemingly forgetting that the refrigerator was bare.

"I have to buy some more food," she began, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, "unless you want us to _starve_."

He leaned forward on the counter, eyes on its white surface, Chelsie recognizing his look as one before he would suggest something he thought she might not like.

"Scarecrow... wants to leave as soon as possible," the doctor began, looking up to her with a guarded gaze. "He wants to return to producing our toxin with the help of the remainder of the mob."

"Uh-huh. So you're _leaving_ then?" Chelsie asked knowingly, trying to urge him to getting to the point.

"We... would like for you to join us," he finally announced, staring back at her, eager for an answer.

She blinked at him, wondering what possessed him to think she'd follow him into his dangerous life of crime.

"Harboring you in my home is _one_ thing, but following you into your dealings with the mob and such as that is another thing _entirely_," she replied honestly, crossed arms hugging tightly to her chest protectively. "I don't even know why you would ask me such a thing in the _first_ place."

He sighed to himself, removing his frames and setting them on the counter, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Although you are well taken care of _financially_," he began, hand falling to pick up his glasses which he replaced upon his nose and adjusted briefly, "you have no one to rely on, and you live alone in the _Narrows_."

"Point taken," the brunette conceded with a nod, then shrugged. "But I'm sure living with a _criminal_ would be even less safe than a young woman living alone in the _slums_."

"I can protect you, whereas you would likely be unable to protect _yourself_," offered the doctor reassuringly.

Her arms fell, Chelsie shaking her head at the notion of running off with him.

Looking up into his icy blue eyes, she questioned, "What possesses you to think I could _live_ in your world? I'm sure you're familiar with death and unlawful deeds, but _I'm_ not. I've never even _seen_ a dead body, much less have I seen someone get _killed_."

"If you would listen to my instructions, you could avoid that aspect of my life," he assured her, having thought all of this through carefully.

"Regardless, what I _really_ don't understand is why you would _want_ to take care of some fragile girl who would only get in your way," she stated, the question in her slightly narrowed eyes that searched his blue orbs in an attempt to find his reasoning that was hidden from her.

He smiled slightly, explaining his motives, "It's simply that I've formed an _attachment_ to you, and I've found in the last two months that it is irreversible."

"I don't want to leave _without_ you," Jonathan confessed, allowing his normally guarded gaze to express his emotions of hope and worry.

"I believe," he began, looking down to the counter where his hands met, fingers entwining before he lifted his gaze to her curious, stormy eyes, "that we _need_ each other."

"We're all each other _has_," expressed the doctor. "I don't want to leave you behind."

"But you can't stay _here_... because of _Scarecrow_," she filled in the blanks, gaining a nod from him.

Her eyes dropped to the floor beneath her bare feet as she thought it over carefully, questions running through her mind.

Would she be able to live beside a criminal, possibly even seeing death all around her?

Could she handle the kind of lifestyle that would afford her?

If she were staying with him, wouldn't that mean that she'd be holed up in some hideout, always running from the authorities as she stayed beside him?

Would that kind of life be good enough for her?

'_Why __**not**__?_' her subconscious whispered. '_Living on the run with one close friend is better than living safely with no one in your life to live for._'

Chelsie hadn't thought the answer would be that simple, but her subconscious made sense - a scary sort of sense that told her just how lonely she would be without Jonathan and even his Scarecrow around.

The brunette lifted her gaze, stormy eyes meeting intently watching blue orbs.

"I guess going with you would be better than staying here alone," she finally decided with a small shrug.

Looking serious, she added, "But if it gets to be too much, I'll just leave."

He smiled, though it was laced with some hidden amusement that Chelsie didn't see.

He thought in the contrary to her words, '_I'll __**never**__ let you leave me._'

* * *

The day went by slowly after their conversation that morning, moving into midday effortlessly.

He helped her pack properly, Chelsie getting together one rolling suitcase full of her normal jeans and overly large t-shirts.

"Why do you wear over-sized t-shirts?" Jonathan asked a question he'd never really thought about until that moment, looking down at the assortment of clothes.

She shrugged, but answered honestly even as he'd yet to look up for the answer, "I just like to hide my body."

He looked up abruptly, though she was busy shuffling through the drawers of her desk.

Her answer intrigued him; what was it about her body that she wanted to hide?

"Why?" he questioned softly.

"Hm?" the woman returned, looking up as she hadn't heard what he'd said.

"Why would you want to hide your body?" clarified the doctor, looking curious.

Chelsie looked back down to the drawers, sifting through them in thought before answering vaguely, "It helps me remain anonymous in a way..."

He watched her movements, then her expression, trying to read her meaning from her countenance, but not even he, a man who knew quite a bit about psychology, could tell anything from her body language.

Looking up, she caught his gaze, realizing she hadn't explained very well.

"For one thing," the woman began to explain, "if men aren't presented with a clear picture of my body, they won't act like _idiots_."

"Not to sound _egotistical_," she clarified carefully, looking around for the right words before her eyes met his once more, "but in past experiences, presenting myself more clearly has made a few people do stupid things."

"So I decided," carried on the brunette with a small shrug as she looked back down into the drawer her hand was sifting through, "why let my body stand out if it causes so much trouble that I consequently can't protect myself from?"

Taking out the item she was looking for, she held up the blue toothbrush in triumph.

"May I inquire as to what happened in your past to spur this idea?" he questioned her with interest before taking a seat on the edge of her bed at the foot of it beside her open suitcase.

"My father was... a real _bastard_, to put it lightly," she began her story, sitting in the wooden chair there at her desk. "He slept around, drank a lot, abused me and my mother... Then one day he got drunk beyond the point of being aware of anything around him, not knowing who I was, yet he _still_ somehow managed to rape me in that flurry of events."

Then she smirked, staring off at nothing in particular as she added, "He eventually contracted something from a hooker and died."

"What happened afterward?" Jonathan felt himself asking, pity in his eyes, though Chelsie didn't look into them.

"Mom and I lived in tension - awkward, _awkward_ tension - until she started dating someone," she recounted almost boredly, twirling around the blue toothbrush. "Eventually, he became my official stepfather... I disliked him because I knew he was only with my mother for the _fortune_ she had inherited and the big business company she owned, so we never got along."

"Then when I turned eighteen, I made a deal with him that if he let my mother supply me with a generous weekly allowance, I would never come back to bother him or her ever again," Chelsie concluded, eyes then shifting to him. "But if he ever _stops_ her from sending my money, I'm going right back over there to bother the hell out of him since it pleases me very much to do so."

* * *

After she'd packed her suitcase and filled a backpack with things she loved or which would keep her occupied, she picked up her stuffed animal, Moosie.

"You're taking that stuffed animal?" he asked incredulously, obviously not knowing _just_ how much she was attached to it.

Chelsie hugged Moosie protectively, "He goes where _I_ go."

"You've given it a _gender_?" he asked, again with the incredulity in his tone.

She covered the white moose's ears, almost dropping the stuffed animal in the process, then mock chiding, "Don't call him an _it_; he'll have an _identity_ crisis."

He laughed despite himself, shaking his head, wondering why that simple stuffed animal gained so much of her love and respect.

If only she showed the same amount of devotion to _him_.

'_You're feeling jealous over a stuffed animal,_' Scarecrow drawled disapprovingly, calling the doctor out on the fleeting emotion.

Jonathan replied in his thoughts, '_Apparently the effects of the taser are a split personality and the remembrance of a wider __**array**__ of human emotions._'

'_I'm not certain we can blame this on the taser,_' replied the Scarecrow thoughtfully, watching the woman set the white moose stuffed animal on her bed through their shared eyes, the brunette in his sight taking care to sit "_him_" so that he could apparently "_see_" his surroundings.

The doctor found that remark curious, but let it go; he didn't feel like dragging out an answer from the Scarecrow, assuring himself that it was likely nothing to mull over.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** This will answer why Chelsie lives in the Narrows. Very minor fluff warning, too.

Also, I forgot to warn you in the last chapter, but this series is gonna turn into a "love triangle" kind of thing between Crane, Chelsie and the Joker.

If you don't fancy that, this fic is not for you.

I wanted to do it because there's so few CranexOCxJoker fics out there, at least that I've found.

And I _know_ Heath Ledger's Joker was supposed to be an asexual kind of fellow, but the fangirls of the masses seem to want it otherwise with all the JokerxOC fics I keep finding. (Aren't _we_ a bunch of twisted freaks, hm?)

Also, I know about Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel, aka Harley Quinn. You don't have to remind me of her importance in the Batman franchise.

I do a lot of research on characters and the fandom before writing a story.

Why do something that goes into JokerxOC then? Same reason others do it when they are still aware of Harley.

I think the fangirls, myself included in the ranks, like to see him with someone of our own imagining. It's just _fun_ for us. And fanfiction is all about fun, regardless of some tight-assed people acting as if it's serious business. (We all know those types, right? It's hard to avoid them.)

If you're going to flame me about this or anything else, whether now or later, make it _interesting_! I like to laugh at flames before letting them light my furnace of doom.

Also, rape is mentioned briefly in this chapter, and talked about in the next, but I'm not gonna do a rape scene. I don't think it's really necessary. If you disagree, tell me and I'll write it up and throw it in by fixing a chapter.

PS: Reviews are like the icing on my cookie cake of writing. Share some, okay? Does a girl gotta beg?

That all said, enjoy the chapter, regardless of its shortness. And sorry for the lengthy A/N.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Five - Stir Crazy**

* * *

The next day, Chelsie's things ready by her front door for pick up at a moment's notice, said woman ordered breakfast.

She and Jonathan ate after the simple vegetarian pizza she had reluctantly settled upon ordering arrived, discussing his plans on contacting the mob, getting together some men and finding a suitable hideout.

"Where do criminal masterminds _usually_ hide?" Chelsie asked curiously from one seat away from his seat at the counter, taking another bite of her pizza as she looked at him expectantly.

"I've never had the _pleasure_ of having a hideout before, Chels," he explained, strangely pulling the toppings from his slice of pizza and eating them with a fork before slicing up the remaining bread with bits of tomato sauce. "This will be a new experience for me as well."

After another bite, she questioned, "Do you have a place in mind?"

"I know Arkham Asylum very well, and I know of the lower levels that are abandoned and mostly forgotten," the doctor mused aloud. "I also know entrances that aren't attached to the main building, so I should think this knowledge will be useful."

"It sounds almost _too_ perfect," admitted Chelsie with a half smile. "I mean, who would think you'd hide in one of the first places the authorities or the Batman would go _looking_ for you?"

"It does seem _convenient_ for us, but I'm afraid the lower levels wouldn't be appropriate accommodations for you," replied Jonathan, brow furrowed thoughtfully. "It would be better suited for experiments rather than living arrangements."

She put the end crust of her pizza with the other two pieces on her plate, then shifted her gaze back up to his electric blues.

"Why not put my savings to good use to get a half-way decent living space of warehouse proportions?" she offered her suggestion, eyes guarded as she watched his reaction.

He answered, looking back into her stormy gaze, "I never intended to use you for your wealth, Chels."

"It's not using me if I'm _offering_ it, and _especially_ if it's in my own best interest," the woman reasoned smartly with a small smile and glistening eyes.

He returned the smile, "I concede to your logic, Miss Crow."

The brunette giggled lightly, "Then I'll have to take a little trip to the _bank_ soon."

"Speaking of logic," he began to bring up a question he'd thought over countless times, "why did you choose to live here when no one simply _chooses_ to live in the Narrows?"

"It's about a sense of belonging," Chelsie tried to explain. "I don't belong with the elite of Gotham, though I know my money could _afford_ that kind of lifestyle."

He looked interested, which prompted her to explain further.

"I'm not like the rich and the famous of Gotham," she told him honestly, looking down to her plate and playing with a stick of bread. "I don't have a taste for paling around with them, or going to lavish parties. I don't want to wear uncomfortable dresses and pretend I care about old businessmen with wives _half_ their age."

"I just don't _think_ like them, or _act_ like them," said the woman, shrugging. "And the best way to _hide_ from everyone's attention... was to live in the slums."

With that said, she hopped up from her seat, taking her plate to the trash and dumping the lumps of bread.

"_Besides_," she muttered, mostly to herself, "I'd hate to be stuck with women who were taller, smarter and prettier than me."

Still he heard, thinking over what to say as she put away her plate and rinsed it out.

It came to him easily, Jonathan replying, "Taller, _maybe_. Prettier, _no_. Smarter... decidedly _not_."

"You're too kind, especially for a criminal mastermind," she joked, laughing lightly before turning around and walking up to the counter, leaning against the countertop with hands clasped.

"Only to _you_, Chels," he assured her, finishing his own three slices of pizza. "The rest of Gotham is only good for aiding me in my experiments, whether by supplying ingredients or being experimented on. ...That's all this city is to me."

Chelsie chewed over her bottom lip, then asked, "If the Batman's here in Gotham, why haven't you decided to move elsewhere? Is it the _connections_ you have here?"

"I would leave given the opportunity as long as my needs for my toxin would be supplied," he admitted, eyes guarded in that certain way that told her he wasn't telling her everything.

She sighed as she looked away, disappointed that he couldn't tell her the entirety of the truth, and he saw the fleeting thought behind the vacant stare.

"...The whole truth," he began as he looked down to his plate, catching her attention, her eyes on his electric blues as they rose to meet her stormy orbs, "is that I don't want to force you into leaving, and I can't go without you."

He watched her reaction, her eyes smiling as she chewed her bottom lip.

"I'd probably follow you anyway," confessed the brunette with a soft smile. "I don't have anyone else... I thought _Damian_ was something to stay for..."

"But since _that_ was vapid and shallow," she continued abruptly with a humorless laugh, "there's nothing else keeping me here but you."

He smiled at her, though Chelsie couldn't see the loving side of it.

* * *

'_You're both flirting and you don't even __**realize**__ it,_' Scarecrow pointed out with a hollow laugh. '_You're simply too __**in love**__ to __**notice**__, and she's too __**naive**__ to __**understand**__ it._'

'_Stop ruining our good moments, Scarecrow,_' Jonathan demanded in the confines of their mind.

Scarecrow cackled, '_Sorry to rain on your __**Kodak moments**__, doctor, but I should point out that you're still staring at her..._'

* * *

Jonathan blinked, realizing Chelsie was still gazing into his eyes intently.

She noticed his realization, tearing her eyes away, scratching the side of her nose with her forefinger.

"Sorry," she apologized softly, looking up at him sheepishly. "Your eyes are just..."

Chelsie trailed off, shaking her head and turning away so that her back faced him and rested to the counter, the woman hugging her arms tightly.

"What?" he asked eagerly, helping her along. "My eyes _are_..."

Her cheeks flushed pink as she slowly confessed, "They're just... _captivating_."

The brunette covered her face with one slender hand, embarrassed, "I sound so stupid... but I just kind of... got _lost_ in them for a moment..."

She breathed out hard against her hand, pushing off the counter and walking out of the kitchen, muttering as she went, "I'm sorry... Nevermind..."

Jonathan leaned to the side as she neared his place on the stool, grabbing her wrist suddenly.

The abrupt act caught her off-balance, Chelsie stumbling backward with a squeak until she was accidentally seated in his lap, sitting sideways.

She laughed at the accident, even more flustered.

"Sorry," Chelsie muttered, biting her lip.

He raised his right arm, wrapping it around her back to support her, then resting his hand to the counter, his other hand releasing her wrist and resting comfortably to her thigh.

"I... don't mind," he said smooth and honestly, watching her cheeks flush.

She turned her head away, locks of hair hiding her eyes, so his hand moved from her thigh and brushed the strands away, tucking them behind her ear.

* * *

Scarecrow growled, '_Now would be the time to tell her of your feelings for her..._'

'_Not yet,_' Jonathan replied quickly. '_We have to make certain that she's __**devoted**__ to us before I confess those feelings..._'

* * *

"Chelsie," he spoke, the woman looking over to him. "I'll be leaving to meet the new mob leader today."

"You mean Salvatore Maroni?" the brunette questioned, looking to see if she had her facts straight.

"Yes," he confirmed. "I want you to stay here until I return from this trip, understood?"

Nodding, she bit her lip and looked away before warning, "Be careful, considering you don't have any of your toxin anymore."

He smiled slightly, assuring her, "Of course. I _will_ come back sometime before tonight."

With that, he checked the pocket watch she'd given him, finding it was nearly noon.

"I should actually be leaving now," he told her.

"See you later, then," replied Chelsie as she quietly slid off his lap, feet hitting the plush white carpet as she padded off toward her room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

After two weeks, plans for where they would stay were beginning to take hold once Jonathan managed to use Chelsie's reserve money to buy a warehouse that actually had rooms and bathrooms.

Eventually, they were settled into the building, and Maroni did agree to send some thugs for Jonathan's use as long as he was given a cut of any toxin profits.

Chelsie, however, was only allowed in her one room, out of sight of the unlawful men.

At night, if he were "home," Jonathan slept beside her.

But on the first night, Chelsie found that Scarecrow would come out, leaving the his other half in a state of unconsciousness.

At those times, he "played" with her, eliciting all the fear he could which usually ended in rape because it seemed to be the only time fright poured from her in waves.

Scarecrow loved to see her afraid, and he didn't even seem to mind the sexual interaction.

Chelsie couldn't fathom why he wanted her fear in particular, but she let it show for him obediently, never putting on a brave face after the first night.

The ocassions happened almost every night, though, and combined with her confinement, she was becoming a little _stir crazy_.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** _Finally_, stuff starts happening to pave the way for the big event in Chelsie's life! Yaaay!

Rape is implied in this, but I didn't do a rape scene. Again, I don't think it's necessary.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Six - Weakness**

* * *

"I haven't been outside in _weeks_!" Chelsie exclaimed, pacing back and forth in her one room like a caged tiger whose freedom would assure it a tasty yak dinner. "I feel _trapped_... There's nothing to do. Can't I just go _with_ you?"

Jonathan rubbed the bridge of his nose, his glasses bobbing up and down with each pinch that indicated frustration.

"I've already _told_ you, I can't risk you being seen outside with me," the doctor explained yet again, although he didn't even have to mention that it was unsafe because of the Scarecrow.

She pouted slightly, looking at the floor as she tried to think of some compromise.

An idea hit her and she looked up at him imploringly, "At least bring me my laptop so I can anonymously connect with the outside world."

"How can I _trust_ you?" he asked warily, knowing she was in the right state to attempt escaping the warehouse.

She bit her lip, looking into his crystal blue eyes, knowing he didn't want her to leave as she replied, "No one would believe me even if I tried to get help. No one knows anything _about_ me and no one will miss me as long as you get my cheques in the mail."

"_Fine_," he gave in at last, turning away and rubbing at his forehead where a headache was beginning to form.

"_Jonathan_?" Chelsie asked timidly.

"What _now_?" he snapped, looking over to her.

She hesitated only a moment before answering, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry... for being a burden... I know you have... important _things_... to take care of, so... I'm sorry."

His expression softened as he faced her, walking over to her.

He reached out to touch her cheek, but she flinched away with slight fear in her stormy eyes.

"Of everyone, why is it that _you_ fear me?" he asked, vaguely intrigued at the back of his mind, but mostly disheartened by her reaction.

She moved away, sitting at the side of their shared bed.

The brunette looked up from her fiddling hands, gaze locking with his, "It's not _you_ I fear--"

She broke their gaze, eyes falling to her hands, "--it's the Scarecrow."

This revelation puzzled him as he couldn't recall her ever having a bad encounter with his other half. Slowly, he moved to the king-sized bed, sitting at the foot of it. He tried to remember a time when the Scarecrow had come out and harmed her, but came up completely blank.

"Why are you afraid of him?" he finally asked the gnawing question, watching her closely for a response.

She picked at invisible threads on her clothes, watching her hands work repeatedly as she replied, "Sometimes... he comes out."

"What does he do?" Jonathan prompted her for a further explanation.

Chelsie looked nervous and turned around, climbing to the head of the bed and sitting, her knees up and held in her arms as she muttered softly, "He told me not to tell."

The doctor stood, walking to the side of the bed and sitting beside her.

"You can tell me, Chelsie," he urged the woman with a reassuring tone.

She shook her head, "Scarecrow would hear."

"_Please_," he begged, brushing back strands of her hair, "tell me what he's done."

Chelsie knew the Scarecrow would hear and he might try to kill her, but she wanted desperately to let Jonathan know so he might be able to _control_ his alter ego.

"At night, when you sleep here," she began slowly, hand clenching at the bedsheets, "he comes out and scares me."

"Please tell me what he _does_, Chelsie," Jonathan asked directly.

"He pins me down - he likes my fear, so he pins me down," she told him, never meeting his inquisitive gaze. "Sometimes he cuts me and sometimes he chokes me and he... he rapes me because he says I look beautiful... when I'm _afraid_."

Jonathan's hand moved, gripping the burlap mask on the nightstand before he brought it over his head, no longer the caring doctor she knew.

"I told you... _not to tell_!" Scarecrow shouted furiously, hand reaching out to choke the frightened woman.

His hand, however, stopped in mid-air and jerked between actions, Jonathan obviously fighting for control.

By now, Chelsie was on her feet at the other side of the bed as Scarecrow ripped off the mask, revealing Jonathan.

"Chelsie... _Run_," he ordered, but she hesitated. "Run! _Now_!"

Finally, she tore herself away from where she stood, running out of the room, but even as she went, she knew Scarecrow would put up a fight.

* * *

'_That **little** girl opened her **big** mouth,_' growled Scarecrow. '_I'm going to shut her up once and for all!_'

Jonathan protested, torn between personalities, '_Don't __**hurt**__ her! Of anyone and everything, don't hurt her... You can kill anyone __**else**__, but don't __**touch**__ her._'

'_Oooh, is the doctor in __**love**__?_' mocked Scarecrow with a bitter laugh.

The two then struggled, their fight for physical control leading them into the bathroom where Scarecrow managed to put on the burlap mask.

* * *

Chelsie had quickly found a needle and some sedative, knowing what had to be done. The only _problem_ with her plan was that she couldn't overpower Jonathan physically. Knowing this, she regrettably decided upon recruiting help from the thugs Maroni had lent to the doctor.

Marching into the main room of the hideout, she attracted every man's gaze from where they were playing cards.

"Scarecrow is attacking Jonathan," she informed them firmly. "I need one of you to sedate him."

Most of the men chuckled and looked her up and down with varying emotions from lust to disgust and everywhere in between.

"_Please_," she begged desperately.

Such didn't elicit much of a response, so she breathed in deeply before adding, "I'll do anything you want, just, _please_, help me."

The lead thug chuckled, throwing in his cards at their game of poker and getting up from where he sat.

He was a burly, six foot, two inch tall man with short brown hair and cold blue eyes which trailed over her small form hungrily.

He strode over to her and asked, "_Anything_?"

"Anything," the brunette agreed grimly.

The man, named Markus, snatched up the needle, and Chelsie hurriedly led him to the bedroom.

He walked in, unfazed by the noises inside, and went to the bathroom to find Jonathan clawing at himself madly, marks left on his neck. Sparing no time to talk, he held the doctor firmly and administered the sedative with ease, and only moments later Jonathan became very weary.

The thug silently picked him up like he weighed nothing at all, walking out of the bathroom and depositing him roughly onto the bed.

"There," he said, looking up to Chelsie who stood in the doorway. "Sleeping like a baby."

* * *

It wasn't very long before Chelsie found out what the thug leader had in mind when he carried her to what appeared to be his quarters.

He tossed her on the bed, no care taken, and locked his door.

"It's you and me _tonight_, girlie," he taunted with a laugh, unbuckling his belt.

* * *

When all was said and done and the thug had all the fun he wanted out of her, he shoved her shivering body off the bed.

"Get dressed and get out," he ordered, finding a packet of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it up.

As quickly as humanly possible, Chelsie threw her clothes on and escaped the room, the thug's cruel laughter ringing behind her as she wobbled from the brutal assault.

She was near her room when the pain between her thighs became too much to bear and she collapsed to her knees, leaning against the wall.

'_If only I wasn't so __**weak**__,_' she thought bitterly, laughing at the futility of the thought, despite it all.

And lying there in a crumpled mass, she slowly cried herself to sleep, mind vaguely mentioning that she didn't like the new trend of being a damsel in distress.

* * *

The next morning, Jonathan woke from a dreamless sleep. He hardly remembered what had happened last night, but it slowly came back to him, coming to a climax when he heard the familiar voice laughing in his mind.

'_Sedated like __**animals**__,_' Scarecrow mused, oddly calmer than was usual.

Ignoring his other half, Jonathan climbed out of bed.

'_Where is my little crow?_' inquired the Scarecrow.

Jonathan's thoughts muttered back, '_I don't know._'

'_**Find**__ her, idiot,_' Scarecrow prompted him with a growl.

'_Is that __**really**__ what I want to do, considering last night's events?_' asked Jonathan's thoughts in an agitated tone.

Scarecrow cackled, then replied, '_If I wanted to __**kill**__ the woman, she'd be dead as of two weeks ago, so I suggest you go find her before I do it __**for**__ you!_'

With a scowl plastered on his face, Jonathan marched to the door and out of it, looking down one end of the hall and then the other. He did a double take and saw Chelsie crumpled up by the door so he kneeled before her, recognizing dried tear stains on her cheeks.

His fist clenched along with his jaw.

'_What did you do to her?_' he demanded his alter ego.

'_Don't pin this particular outcome on __**me**__; I was just as sedated as __**you**__, doctor,_' Scarecrow replied with a discontent growl.

* * *

After having transferred her to her bed, the doctor attempted to wake Chelsie up, the woman stirring after a few good shakes of the shoulders.

"Chelsie," he said, gaining her attention. "What happened to you?"

Rubbing her tired eyes, she sat up slowly and answered, "It's nothing..."

"It must be _something_ from the way you were huddled next to the door with tear stains on your cheeks," the doctor countered, slightly annoyed that she would lie to him.

Her hands fell from her eyes, her dark orbs meeting his.

"It's _nothing_," she insisted, lips twitching and nose scrunching a little. "_Really_."

"You're lying," he informed her sternly. "When you lie, your lips twitch and your nose scrunches slightly."

"Have you been studying my behavioral patterns, doctor?" she asked with an amused smirk.

He sighed deeply, "Now is hardly the time for jokes. I want to know what happened to you."

"I don't want to _talk_ about it," Chelsie told him firmly, lightly knocking away his advancing hand that attempted to touch her cheek. "Don't touch me, please."

* * *

Jonathan frowned deeply, determined more than ever to know what had happened to her when he was incapacitated.

'_Make her talk,_' demanded the Scarecrow, agitated. '_Obviously, someone hurt her while we were sedated... Now get her to talk or I'll do it __**myself**__!_'

'_Why do you even __**care**__?_' Jonathan demanded in return, confused to the sudden change in personality the Scarecrow had undergone.

'_She's mine, __**too**__, whether you like it or not,_' Scarecrow replied through a verbal grin. '_I want to know what idiot hurt her so we can get rid of him and be __**done**__ with this... Now make her talk or I'll do the honors!_'

* * *

"Chelsie, you have to tell me what happened or Scarecrow will take over and make you tell him," the doctor warned her gravely, seeing her eyes widen and quiver with fear.

"_No_. No Scarecrow," she muttered, obviously frightened by the mere prospect.

"Then tell me what happened, Chels," he urged her.

"I had to get one of the thugs to sedate you since I knew I couldn't hold you myself," the brunette explained with a sigh. "They wouldn't help willingly, so I said I'd do anything because I knew Scarecrow was hurting you... After you were sedated, he took what he wanted... _That's_ what happened."

She then closed her eyes and turned her head, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks.

He realized what she meant, Scarecrow clawing at the back of his mind to be set free, the doctor willingly releasing him. Scarecrow put on his mask and Chelsie was sure he'd hurt her, but he said nothing and went out the door, slamming it behind him.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** And here's where Chelsie gains her other half.

The sex part with the thug didn't really need to be expressed thoroughly, but just a little bit.

And Scarecrow finally says his first rhyme! Woot!

To sum up the chapter: Omg, Chelsie/Crow has breasts! And awkward Scarecrow is _awwwkward_.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Seven - Crow**

* * *

"Which one of you touched her?" Scarecrow asked his group of thugs.

All eyes turned to Markus, while Markus's eyes turned to fear.

Scarecrow stalked up to the leader, "So you think you can take what's mine?"

He then deftly sprayed fear toxin into the burly man's face before Jonathan came out, ripping off the mask and moving behind him. He pulled out a knife - something he would not normally use, but had begun to carry since the little stint with Damian - and held it to Markus' throat.

"Let this be a lesson to anyone who thinks about touching her!" he shouted, slitting the throat beneath his blade and holding tight the shuddering body. "She's _ours_!"

He then shoved the body away, Chelsie coming out of her room the moment the thug hit the floor, blood spattered everywhere. It covered Jonathan's knife, mask, clothes and face.

Seconds later, just as Jonathan looked up and caught sight of her, she turned to the side and lost the contents of her stomach.

The woman had never seen the climax of a bloody death before and, on top of former events, the trauma caught up with her, her knees buckling. She manged to fall away from her bile, landing unconscious to the side.

* * *

"Chelsie..."

'_Look what you've done!_' shouted Scarecrow, actually sounding enraged that he'd let Chelsie see the gruesome deed. '_**FIX**__! __**IT**__!_"

* * *

Jonathan shook his head free of his daze and ran to her fallen body, kneeling before her and checking her pulse to find she'd only fainted from shock.

He looked over his shoulder and gave orders to the remaining men, "Clean up both messes! I want them gone by the time she comes out of her room again!"

The doctor then reached out, taking her body gently and carrying her bridal style into her room, placing her on the bed.

* * *

'_We should have taken him out in a __**locked room**__, you idiot,_' Scarecrow reprimanded the doctor.

Jonathan sighed, now sitting in a chair at her bedside, watching Chelsie sleep.

He replied tiredly, '_We can't protect her forever. It was inevitable that she would one day see something... __**violent**__._'

* * *

Neither Scarecrow nor the doctor knew as they conversed that Chelsie was trapped in a dream.

She stood in total blackness, confronted with herself, only it wasn't _quite_ herself.

The replica wore a black beak.

"Who _are_ you?" Chelsie asked her other self, tilting her head.

The other self smiled a bit, mimicking the tilt of Chelsie's head as if she were a mirror image, but the action looked more bird-like on the copy.

"There were two crows sat on a stone. One flew away and there was one," the replica recited in a scratchy, gritty voice that still managed to be alluring and somewhat soft. "The other, seeing his neighbour gone, he flew away and there were none."

"That doesn't answer my question in the _least_," replied Chelsie, sighing to herself.

"A thirsty Crow found a Pitcher with some water in it, but so little was there that, try as she might, she could not reach it with her beak, and it seemed as though she would die of thirst within sight of the remedy. At last she hit upon a clever plan. She began dropping pebbles into the Pitcher, and with each pebble the water rose a little higher until at last it reached the brim, and the knowing bird was enabled to quench her thirst," the other self recited another tale. "Moral: Necessity is the mother of invention."

Chelsie frowned, "Why do you speak of _crows_?"

"The Swallow and the Crow had a contention about their plumage. The Crow put an end to the dispute by saying, "Your feathers are all very well in the spring, but mine protect me against the winter." Moral: Fair weather friends are not worth much."

"_Please_, _stop_," Chelsie begged of her replica. "Tell me your _name_."

Her other self simply smiled again, "A detestable crow had seated herself atop a sheep so that the sheep had to carry the crow around against her will. After a while, the sheep remarked, 'If you had done this to a dog, you would not be able to get away with it: dogs have teeth!' The obnoxious crow replied, 'I despise creatures who cannot defend themselves, yet I yield to the high and mighty, as I know who should be attacked and who should be flattered with cunning lies. That is why I last to a ripe old age, living for thousands of years.'"

She sighed deeply at her replica, asking reproachfully, "Got another one?"

"The swallow boasted to the crow, 'I am a fair young maiden and the daughter of the King of Athens!' The swallow then proceeded to tell the story of Tereus and how she had been raped by him and how he had cut out her tongue. The crow said to her, 'If you talk so much with your tongue cut out, what would you do if it had been left intact!'"

"Any more?" Chelsie asked boredly.

"No more for _now_, I'm afraid," the other finally answered directly with a cackle. "You will see me again, I _promise_, sweetheart. But for now, you must wake up."

* * *

Chelsie groaned lightly from her place on the king-sized bed, hands absently tugging at the sheets that covered her.

But then a calm took over that Jonathan saw as he watched her, her body sitting up abruptly as she grinned.

"_So_ good to be out of there!" declared a voice not of Chelsie.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her cautiously, but said nothing; his psychiatric background told him all he needed to know that this new voice was a portent of a new persona.

She looked over to the ex-doctor, head cocking like a curious bird, eyes darting around his features.

"What have you done with Chelsie?" he suddenly demanded.

The look-alike smiled, then spoke again in the gritty, but soft voice, "She's fine, sugar - pacin' the darkness. It's _my_ turn to live a little."

He questioned hesitantly, unsure he wanted to know the answer, "And you _are_?"

"Crow!" she said merrily. "You'll find I'm much more _fun_ than sweet li'l Chelsie, and, you know, it's your _Scarecrow's_ fault I'm here."

Crow cackled at his discomforted look, the wayward doctor getting up, taking the mask in his hand with his grip turning his knuckles white, and leaving the room.

She followed discreetly, watching as he left the building to no doubt go hate himself for screwing up poor little innocent Chelsie.

And thus she found herself standing amongst the thugs that belonged to Scarecrow, her eyes darting around to each of them.

"Poor Jonathan left because poor li'l Chelsie - you all know her, a li'l _rag_ of a thing, so _frail_ - now has another half, being _me_, _Crow_," she explained to them, everyone's attention falling on her. "Now, gentlemen, I'm not _like_ li'l Miss Chelsie... I like _fun_, and _fun_ is what I'm here for."

"To get to the blunt point, sweeties," Crow began with a grin, "who'd like a quick, easy fuck while the Boss is away, _hm_?"

Most men shifted uncomfortably, remembering the Boss's temper not long ago when someone had touched her.

"Oh, don't be _shy_," she cooed sweetly. "This time, my pretties, I'm _willing_... And I don't expect Jonny boy back for a good while because he's broodin' and _hatin'_ himself at the moment."

"_So_," went on Crow, looking around, "what brave soul will take up my offer, or is it _true_ that all of you _fear_ the lanky ex-doctor?"

Such elicited a few angry growls, Crow keeping her laughter bottled in her head where Chelsie was stuck, not knowing what was going on.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jonathan hid in alleyway nearby the warehouse.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, "_Chelsie_..."

'_Because of __**you**__,_' thought the doctor to his Scarecrow, '_because of __**us**__, she's broken..._'

'_**No**__,_' replied the Scarecrow, sounding rather pleased with the turn of events. '_No, no... She's __**fixed**__... She's like __**us**__ now. I made my Crow to __**match**__ me... Share and share alike, doc; we'll share them both... You wanted her, and now we __**have**__ her, and she's perfect._'

'_I wanted her to be __**protected**__,_' Jonathan protested, sitting in the alleyway with his back to a building.

Scarecrow growled with frustration and then promised and reasoned, '_Of __**course**__ we'll protect her. She simply needed my Crow to cope with this lifestyle, just as __**you**__ need __**me**__._'

He then questioned, '_Do you really think you could have lived your criminal life after Fear Night __**without**__ me?_'

'_No, you __**couldn't**__ have,_' Scarecrow answered for him. '_We were always slightly separate. Without our personas split, we never could have taken Chelsie and found her Crow... And Crow is simply a __**part**__ of your beloved Chelsie that will now come to light for us, doctor... This is the best case scenario for __**each**__ of us._'

Jonathan sighed, but realized his other half was right; Chelsie needed a stronger half, just as was the dynamic between himself and the Scarecrow.

* * *

And back at the warehouse, before anyone really knew it, Crow had recruited one of Jonathan's braver men.

Now, she had the man on her bed, working to free him of his shirt.

He wasn't the best looker of the bunch - a brown-haired, grey-eyed, older man - but Crow knew looks were not equivalent to a good ride in between the sheets. No, looks were a _bonus_, but good sex could come from _any_one, so it was best to try out _every_one. _That_ was her main philosophy on the subject.

Once their bodies were mutually unhindered by clothes, Crow took over like the alpha female she was.

Chelsie's body that most had not seen was actually curvy and plump enough to be pleasant. The random thug named Mikhail was surprised to realize that underneath the three sizes too big t-shirts the woman usually wore were a set of breasts that were no doubt double D's.

His rough, calloused hands, of course, found their way to fondle her breasts as their hips grinded together.

She leaned down slightly into his hands with a soft moan, grinning; she knew this one didn't need talk, just a steady rhthym of the hips and a hold on her chest. He really was pretty _simple_ to please, and that was good for a first ride of her own.

* * *

When they were done, they were done, both parties throwing back on their clothes without the fuss that was found between lovers. There was no façade that hid their simple use of one another, just as Crow wouldn't have it any other way. She didn't need the cuddly type.

But the bedroom door opened as Mik-_whatever_ was buckling his belt, Crow adjusting her bra without a shirt or even pants on.

It was obvious what had recently occurred.

The thug stopped to see Jonathan in the doorway, but Crow really didn't care, not even looking up - not even pretending it mattered to her.

* * *

'_Our Crow obviously __**slept**__ with one of our men,_' Scarecrow's growled out words jolted Crane's brain, the ex-doctor turning his gaze to the woman.

He hardly recognized her since he had only seen her in over-sized shirts and pajama tops. Had she _always_ had such a large chest?

Mikhail discreetly slipped out the door while he was focused on Crow's body.

'_She was hiding a Double D-cup?_' asked Scarecrow, laughing at how neither of them had seen _that_ coming.

Jonathan flushed, shoving the Scarecrow into the back of his mind to shut him up.

* * *

"Crow," he finally said, catching her attention as she threw her too large shirt over her head, then slipped on her jeans, turning around long enough for him to notice a large, black pi symbol tattoo on the small of her back. "W-Where is Chelsie?"

"Oh, the silly thing is cryin' away in the darkness," Crow answered flippantly with a casual wave of her hand. "Silly thing didn't _want_ to have fun... But I'll _change_ all that. I'll make her understand."

"_Actually_," began the alter ego, looking up and flipping back her long hair, "Chelsie and I should really be leavin' this--"

She looked all around, gesturing to the place with two fingers and disdain before finishing her thought, "--_dump_."

"_In fact_," she added, straightening her large, blue shirt, "I'll be leavin' _now_, shug."

* * *

As if he would actually let her leave, she began to walk past him toward the open door to find her shoes, Scarecrow climbing up to the forefront of Jonathan's mind with a low growl, '_Don't just stand there; __**stop**__ her!_'

Jonathan obediently caught her wrist, pulling her back into the room, then shutting the door with his free hand.

* * *

Crow made a throaty growl, "Let go of me, doctor. You don't seem to know what I'm _capable_ of."

Without further ado, she spun around his back with grace, pulling his arm up behind him painfully, grabbing his free hand by the wrist when it tried to retaliate.

Embarrassingly enough for him, she had both his hands trapped behind his back rather effectively in no time flat.

"I happen to retain every move li'l Miss _Chelsie_ knows but was too timid to ever put to good use, _doctor_," Crow explained with another low growl. "Now, I advise you to keep your hands to yourself."

Scarecrow clawed his way out, now growling in return, "Crow... My little Crow..."

He used his lanky body, contorting oddly - like a _real_ scarecrow's body of straw could surely do - until he escaped her grip quickly, turning on her and catching her wrists tightly, pulling her body against him.

Taking both wrists in one hand, he crushed them against his chest, his free hand gripping her shirt and yanking her even closer.

"Let me go," demanded Crow softly, still taken aback by his escape and attempting to push away from him, but to no avail.

"I'm afraid I can't do that... You're _mine_, my little Crow," he informed her, never bothering to retrieve the burlap sack which was stuffed in the doctor's suit pocket.

He didn't need it with her; Crow and her Chelsie always knew him apart from the ex-doctor.

She struggled again, but found he had more strength than his thin frame foretold, the woman growling in the back of her throat.

His hand with the grip of her shirt yanked it down, her upper body forcefully bent forward and a view of her chest showing, Scarecrow chuckling as her arms pressed her breasts together tightly.

Again, she growled, and unexpectedly lifted her leg, kneeing him in the groin.

He grimaced and bent into her slightly, head suddenly turning as he craned his neck up like his surname's namesake, teeth latching into her neck.

She groaned, almost in pleasure, as he spoke against her skin.

"You're more frail than you _realize_, little Crow," he told her, teeth sinking in again until small drops of blood were produced, flowing down across his lips.

His tongue lapped up the blood, lips kissing the wound.

"Let me _go_," Crow demanded once more, but he simply leaned down, hands releasing her wrists as he picked her body off of the ground.

She clawed at his neck with a snarl, frustrated at her helplessness, but he only sneered down at her, taking her to the bed and throwing her down.

Before she could scramble away, he was on top of her, pinning her to the bed.

"If you like to _fuck_ so much--" he began, uncharacteristically using the crass word and leaning down until their noses were inches apart.

He finished in a snarl, "--you should have waited for your _master_ to come home."

Her eyes shown defiantly, her leg rising enough and managing to kick him in the stomach, his stomach muscles tightening in reply as he grunted and leaned forward, his forehead to hers.

She found he was surprisingly resilient, the corners of her lips downturned into a frown.

After leaning back, he reached up with one hand, gripping her shoulder, the other slipping under her long shirt and painfully digging into her hip, the woman squirming uncomfortably beneath him.

* * *

'_You're __**hurting**__ her,_' Jonathan informed the Scarecrow impatiently.

'_**Shut up**__,_' Scarecrow spat in reply. '_I know what I'm doing._'

Jonathan scoffed, '_How __**could**__ you? You don't know __**how**__ to be gentle._'

His alter ego growled in their shared mind before he admitted reluctantly, '_So I'm still learning._'

Scarecrow's fingers loosened slightly until Crow was more relaxed, but still acutely alert to his touch.

'_Just let me follow her signals, doctor,_' he added, fingers slowly stroking the flesh he'd dug into.

* * *

Crow whimpered slightly; why was someone as rough as Scarecrow now attempting to be more gentle?

She let her eyes find his blue ones, but found he was looking to the fingers of the hand massaging her hip as if he were uncertain on how his hands should move.

* * *

'_Alright, doctor,_' Scarecrow gave in defeatedly.

'_I won't __**beg**__, but your opinion would be..._' he trailed off, sounding reluctant and awkward, '_**appreciated**__._'

Jonathan sighed, '_Don't grip her as if she'll get away._'

'_But she __**will**__!_' Scarecrow protested loudly, frustrated.

'_You're __**stronger**__ than her,_' the wayward doctor reasoned calmly. '_Simply keep her lower body pinned down._'

* * *

Crow watched Scarecrow with fascination, soon feeling his grip loosening on her, fingers no longer turning her pale skin even more white.

Her head tilted slightly in confusion and wonderment.

What on _earth_ was he attempting to do?

* * *

Scarecrow was pleased when she didn't attempt to escape from his light touch that no longer trapped her upper body, so he looked up, meeting her gaze.

She looked curious and confused, so he took advantage of her baffled state, leaning down and slowly finding her lips as he closed his eyes.

Her lips reluctantly kissed back as he led them, Scarecrow's hand slipping up from her shoulder until he carressed her neck, his mouth sucking on her plump bottom lip.

Pulling away from her lips, his nose nuzzled her cheek.

"_My_ Crow... _My_ Crow..." he muttered huskily, sounding as if he were reassuring himself.

* * *

She blinked at his behavior, then turned her head away.

"I don't... I don't _belong_ to you," Crow insisted, but she sounded unsure now.

"I _created_ you," he asserted, hand tightening around her neck until it was hard for her to breath.

His other hand reached up, helping to choke her.

He questioned darkly, "You _love_ me, don't you?"

"Tell me," came his abrupt command. "Tell me you love me."

* * *

Jonathan was surprised, to say the least; for once, Scarecrow wanted someone to show an emotion _besides_ fear, and it seemed to go against his nature, especially in the fact that he was demanding her to tell him she _loved_ him.

* * *

Crow shivered, taking in shallow breaths under his watchful gaze.

If she didn't tell him she loved him, he would likely choke her to death.

Normally, she'd tell him to go to _hell_, but _this_ was a little different.

"I..." she began softly, hands reaching up and wrapping around his wrists, the brunette struggling to speak with the limited oxygen. "I l-love... you."

"No, no," muttered Scarecrow, thumbs pressing harder on her neck. "Say my _name_."

She understood, but felt entirely dizzy, her own words fuzzy to her ears, "I l-love... y-you, Sc-Scare... c-crow."

Her half-lidded eyes fogged over, eyes slowly closing.

Scarecrow noticed her consciousness leaving her, abruptly releasing her neck.

"_Breathe_," he demanded in a low growl, shaking her shoulders.

Crow woke enough to take in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

He kissed her cheek, moving to her mouth which didn't respond, so he pulled back, checking her pulse.

She was fine, only light-headed.

* * *

'_She only said what you wanted to hear so you wouldn't __**kill**__ her,_' the doctor informed angrily, having carefully monitored the exchange.

He was upset that Scarecrow could have made her fall unconscious.

'_Shut up! She __**meant**__ it!_' Scarecrow insisted resolutely, nuzzling the cheek of the very dizzy brunette. '_She loves me. __**My**__ Crow..._'

* * *

Crow panted lightly, turning her head away with a small moan.

Scarecrow moved his lips to her ear, whispering in a growl, "Birds of a feather flock together,

and so will pigs and swine; rats and mice will have their choice, and so will I have _mine_."

* * *

Jonathan sighed tiredly inside their mind; he wasn't sure what to think of this new side to Scarecrow.

And where had that nursery rhyme come from? He'd never rhymed _before_...


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** I can't make you review, but it would be nice. I know my story isn't that good, so constructive criticism would be welcomed. Even a review just to say something like "keep writing" would be encouraging. Hell, I'd take _flames_ at this point. I have no shame! ;P

Anyway, I used a Gaia Online avatar maker to show what Chelsie looks like basically, and how Crow looks with her costume of sorts on.

Copy/paste the following link: http://i42 dot tinypic dot com/fnv01v dot png

Then replace the word "dot" with a "." (no spaces) all three times.

It should work. If it doesn't, let me know. Just in case, I'll get the link up on my profile. If that doesn't work, I don't know what will.

Lastly, thanks to all those who've put my story on alert!

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Eight - That One Thing**

* * *

Since that day, Crow pretended to be Scarecrow and Jonathan's while in their sight, Scarecrow actually having intercourse with her sometimes, to her surprise - the wayward doctor was much too much like _Chelsie_ for such as that, always shying away from Crow's advances - and also got them to send her a good tailor.

She had drawn out the perfect little costume for herself, and with the tailor's help, she soon had it.

On her feet were black boots - with thick, slightly high heels - that cut off at mid-calf. Nicely fitting black, slightly bell bottom jeans draped over them, aquamarine decorations around the waist.

As for her top, she wore a black shirt that revealed her stomach and had short sleeves that covered her shoulders, a black top with no shoulders over it that left her stomach visible, the sleeves long and covering half of her hands.

Over those, she wore a black cobweb top that extended over her bare stomach and had long sleeves, the ends of the sleeves ending into three points.

Over all of those, she wore two crisscrossed, tight-fitting black belts connected to a circular piece of metal on her chest.

On her face resided a black beak like that of a crow.

And finally, on top of her wild hair sat a black, felt hat - actually a zoot suit tapa lacking a feather - with a black, heart-shaped clip pinned to the left side of the darker black material around the hat.

She loved her costume of sorts and had the tailor find identical items so she could always wear it, Chelsie wearing everything but the beak when she was around.

And so, whenever Jonathan/Scarecrow left, Crow came out and the _fun_ began.

Crow would strut around the thugs, looking for one who looked like fun. She'd then choose her favorite flavor of the day, leading him astray into her bedroom.

It was fairly clear to all of Jonathan Crane's thugs that the alluring Crow was a nymphomaniac. She couldn't keep herself from picking one each time Jonathan left the warehouse, and none of them minded anymore because she was always careful to make sure Crane would be gone for quite a while.

* * *

Today was just like any other, Jonathan and Scarecrow off on some errand.

Once more, she picked one of the thugs and now had him in her room, straddling him on her bed, said man without a shirt.

She tossed her black hat away to the chair by her desk where it landed on the chair post, spinning a few times before resting.

Her wild hair was now free, Crow fluffing it up with a laugh.

"Do you like it _rrrough_?" she questioned, practically barking the last word with a giggle.

"Oh, _yeah_, sweetie," the thug replied enthusiastically, hands riding up and down her sides possessively.

She took her long nails to his chest, carefully scratching hard, but not so much as to cut the tender flesh, the black claws trailing over his muscular stomach.

Her hands then left his aching body, taking off her trademark beak and tossing it aside to land on her desk.

Habitually, her nose twitched at the freedom from the fake appendage.

Before the pair could go any further, however, the door opened wide, both parties looking to the doorway.

"..._Oops_," said Crow with a little giggle, staring right back at Jonathan's electric blue eyes.

She contemplated the flash of hurt in those sweet blue orbs, but had no real time to ponder the meaning as the burlap sack in Jonathan's hand went over his head, signifying the arrival of the Scarecrow.

Crow hopped out of the bed, turning to face him, "Now, sugar, this isn't so bad... I was just havin' a li'l bit of _fun_."

Scarecrow looked away from the brunette wordlessly, stalking to the end of the bed and looking down at the thug who still lay there, frozen in place from fear.

Shrugging, Crow went about putting her beak back on as she saw the Scarecrow was going to ruin her play-date, the woman sitting the hat back atop her head as she looked in the desk's mirror, adjusting it carefully.

Scarecrow said nothing to the man in his bed, the man stumbling over his words, "Now... Now there ain't no need t'... t' get _mad_, ya... _ya know_?"

"_Shut up_," growled the Scarecrow fiercely before he reached up and sprayed the thug with his toxin.

The helpless thug breathed it in, then thrashed about at the vision the toxin supplied his brain, the man screaming and clawing at thin air.

"He's not the _first_, honey, and he _won't_ be the last," Crow commented, turning around and sitting on the desk behind her.

The Scarecrow ignored her, watching the trembling wreck of a man quake with fright, his blue eyes fascinated.

Crow rolled her eyes, watching the thug roll right off the mattress with disinterest.

When his eyes met her, he cringed with fear, eyes wide and almost unseeing as he wrestled with visions only known to himself.

She sneered down at the pathetic lump he became, "They're all the same... No one's mind but _mine_ ever counters the visions."

Hopping up, she walked over to him, kicking him gently as she placed her hands to her hips.

"How _pathetic_," she cooed gently, kneeling down to the thug's level and looking into his terrified brown eyes. "You poor, poor, pitiful thing, you... Too _bad_ you didn't get one good _ride_ before facin' all your fears. You sure did look like a lot of _fun_."

Standing back up, she walked off, passing the Scarecrow who turned and watched her leave.

* * *

'_She must be __**bored**__ of you,_' suggested Jonathan as Scarecrow still watched the doorway.

Scarecrow growled, wandering out of the room and following her faint vanilla scent into the main room.

She was sitting casually on the couch, flipping through a magazine with her feet propped up on the coffee table.

He walked up behind her, screams still coming from the bedroom and every one of his men watching the pair cautiously.

"Why didn't you wait until I came _back_, Crow?" he asked, tone annoyed.

She leaned the back of her head to the back of the couch, staring up directly at him, "I've had you _plenty_ of times. I don't like repeat rides, sugarcube."

"You said you loved me..." he trailed off, almost sounding confused.

Crow scoffed, "Because you were _choking_ me, babycakes. I'd have been a li'l _daft_ not to comply."

The other men around them stiffened at her bold remark; they knew Scarecrow fervently believed Crow loved him. They knew because a man much braver, and apparently more stupid, than themselves had asked why he cared about "some dumb broad who doesn't love you."

Needless to say, Scarecrow had been _displeased_ with that man, spraying fear gas in his face in enough of a dose that he died after many vivid and terrifying hallucinations.

No one questioned Crow's love for him after that day for fear of being killed by his wrath, but they all knew she didn't _have_ said feeling.

Scarecrow snarled, but otherwise looked at a loss for words.

Finally, he muttered almost pathetically and childishly, "But I _love_ you..."

"Love isn't on my to-do list, shug," Crow replied with an uncaring tone.

Scarecrow growled to himself, then began pacing back and forth behind the couch as his Crow lifted her head and began carelessly flipping through her magazine again.

After a few minutes, she flipped another page and yelped, holding up a bloody thumb with a paper cut.

Scarecrow stopped pacing and watched her, head cocked to the side like a bird.

"Damn," she muttered, sticking the thumb in her mouth and scowling.

He turned and went to their room, all the men watching him leave and wondering what he was going to do. They were all surprised he hadn't _attacked_ her after her confession of a lack of love for him.

All eyes but hers watched as he returned, a small tube of medicine in one hand and a thin, unwrapped band-aid in the other, all the men exchanging bewildered looks.

Scarecrow didn't notice their actions, going around the couch and taking Crow's bleeding thumb from her mouth. He then uncapped the tube, spreading Neosporin on the cut.

"_Ow_," she muttered, scowling at him.

He ignored her agitated look, opening the band-aid wrapper, then peeling back the white pieces, carefully covering the wound.

"_Uh_... _thanks_, I guess," she said softly, taking back her thumb and looking over the plain band-aid to see it fit properly.

Scarecrow didn't reply, dropping the band-aid wrappers into the trash bin nearby before heading back to their bedroom and putting away the tube of medicine.

He then returned and began pacing again, all the men looking at him discreetly as if he were crazy, and he probably _was_, even if the whole exchange was something so mundane and actually _kind_. It was only out of place because he was the feared Scarecrow, one of Gotham's biggest criminal masterminds.

Finally, Scarecrow questioned the brunette, "What is it you want; _money_, _clothes_, _jewelry_? I can give you those things..."

"What, are you tryin' to _buy_ my love now?" she asked with a smirk, amused.

He really was pretty strange, thinking those kinds of things would make her love him.

Simply continuing to pace, Scarecrow scowled, "There must be _something_ you want - something that will make you happy."

"I'd be happy if you gave up this silly li'l _love_ notion, sweetie," replied Crow, turning pages in her magazine more carefully now. "I don't need a full-time lover; I just want to _rent_ every now and then."

* * *

Scarecrow scowled; why did he have to love her from the start?

But he felt that she was meant for him and vice versa, so he couldn't understand why she didn't automatically return the feeling.

'_Why do you love her, Scarecrow?_' asked Jonathan, the question one he couldn't find an answer to in all his free time of pondering.

'_Every scarecrow needs at least __**one**__ crow that's not too scared to stay in his field,_' Scarecrow replied, as if it were simple - as if it were the most obvious thing. '_She's got Chelsie's immunity to the fear gas... and I love Chelsie to __**start**__ with, Crow being a part of her._'

'_**What**__?_' asked Jonathan quickly, clearly taken aback by the last comment.

Scarecrow sighed, frustrated at having to explain himself, _'Chelsie and Crow __**complete**__ each other, doctor; they're two sides of the same coin... If __**Crow**__ doesn't love us, then __**Chelsie**__ doesn't love us... and you know what that means for __**you**__, don't you, doctor?_'

* * *

Jonathan remained bitterly silent, shutting his thoughts off from the Scarecrow.

Chelsie and her Crow _did_ love them; maybe they didn't _realize_ it yet, but he was all they had and they had every _reason_ to love him.

Didn't he treat them _better_ than anyone else? Didn't he prove that by wanting them near that he _needed_ them? Wasn't it _obvious_ that they needed each other?

Chelsie was just naive, he reasoned, and her Crow was just in denial.

* * *

Crow finished off the magazine that had rudely cut her, tossing it back onto the coffee table.

'_Why don't you love him, Crow?_' Chelsie, who had gotten used to her alter ego, asked curiously.

'_Why should we __**love**__ anyone, sweetheart?_' questioned Crow in their shared brain. '_**Sure**__, they took us in, but that doesn't mean we have to __**love**__ them... They're just like any __**other**__ man, sweetheart, and men are only worth using a few times for a li'l fun. Love is just sort of useless... We don't need it._'

Chelsie sighed in their mind, replying, '_You make some sort of point. I don't see why we __**need**__ love. A woman doesn't have to rely on the love of a man to live in this world... That's just a fairytale mentality for little __**girls**__ to believe in... Prince Charming sure doesn't exist, especially in __**Gotham City**__._'

'_But there __**are**__ quite a few men in Gotham that look fun,_' she added, sounding ever more of Crow's mentality, yet never realizing it. '_Take the __**Batman**__ for instance, or even the __**Joker**__... I'm not good at sex like __**you**__ are, but I wonder how those types of guys are in bed. I guess... it's not so __**bad**__ to have a bit of a sex life._'

'_**Now**__ you see my point, sweetheart,_' Crow replied through a mental smile. '_With __**me**__ around, you could learn some basic moves and I could fetch you a few lays... I bet you'd do __**fine**__ once you got the hang of it, sweetheart, and men __**like**__ variety... We're two sides of a coin, you and I; two fucks in one package!_'

* * *

Scarecrow kept up his pace; he needed to find Crow's weakness, and once she really loved him, or at least realized she did _all along_, Chelsie would follow along and love Jonathan and himself easily.

But what was Crow's weak spot?

She didn't care for wardrobe help; she had several sets of her preferred attire already.

She never wore jewelry and didn't seem very into things like that.

She didn't spend a lot of money, either.

'_Doctor, what do we know about Chelsie for a fact? Try to remember the things she __**liked**__, and Crow will probably share some of those likes as well,_' he prompted his other half.

Jonathan thought on it carefully, then gave one answer, '_Chelsie used to watch a lot of... __**anime**__, I believe it's called. Japanese animated series and movies with more of an adult storyline._'

* * *

Scarecrow walked up behind Crow, "What if I could buy you anime?"

Crow's eyebrow quirked, the woman clearly interested, but shrugged as she turned around to face him, "Money can't buy you _love_, shug, and _bribing_ me won't work _either_."

"Then what will change your mind?" he finally asked outright, voice agitated.

"I don't need _love_, sugarcube, so you might as well let me _leave_, honey bunny," the brunette returned, leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed over the top of it. "But, _uh_... since you're so _vexed_ by all of this, I'll hint that there's only one way into _our_ heart, babycakes... You're just never gonna _find_ it."

* * *

'_There's a way into our heart?_' questioned Chelsie, not knowing what her other half could possibly be referring to.

'_Of __**course**__ there is, sweetheart,_' Crow replied with a mental grin. '_You probably don't __**realize**__ it, but you and I have a fetish for the __**dominant**__ types, and there's one thing a guy's gotta do to get our mutual attention, sweetheart._'

Chelsie sighed at the answer that was so indirect and asked directly, '_So what is that one thing?_'

Crow sighed as if it were obvious, '_He's gotta set us __**free**__, sweetheart, but ol' Scarecrow is too afraid we won't come back... It's like the sayin', 'if you love something, let it go; if it comes back, it's yours, but if it doesn't, it never was.' ...__**Get it**__, sweetheart?"_

'_Well... it __**does**__ make sense,_' Chelsie decided, mentally shrugging.

* * *

Staring down at Crow, Scarecrow pondered that one thing, but he couldn't fathom what she'd want.

* * *

Crow stared up at Scarecrow, knowing full well he had no idea what she could possibly mean.

The day a guy knew _that_, she knew she'd be hooked, no matter how bad in bed he might be.

Not that Scarecrow was bad, no. He was _good_, actually.

But there was no _way_ he'd figure it out, _right_?


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you to my one reviewer! *round of applause*

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Nine - A Chance Meeting**

* * *

That night, Jonathan and his Scarecrow slipped out of the bed where Chelsie and her Crow still lie asleep contently.

They left the room, wandering out into the main room of the hideout which was empty, Jonathan sitting on the couch.

* * *

'_Have you figured out what Crow was speaking of yet, doctor?_' asked an impatient Scarecrow who'd been repeating the same question over and over ever since the subject came up.

'_No matter our level of intellect, I'm afraid I'm not a __**mind reader**__, Scarecrow,_' the annoyed ex-doctor replied, running a hand through his hair. '_The only way to go about the matter is to gather more information._'

Scarecrow scoffed; Crow would _never_ let them ask enough questions to find a lead. He knew she was too intelligent to play into their hands so easily, and while that was an undoubtedly _good_ thing in their shared view, it was also a very frustrating quality.

'_We need to know one thing in particular,_' mentioned the Scarecrow thoughtfully. '_One of us has to inquire as to why she chose __**Damian**__ as a lover... unless you can see the reason in your infinite __**wisdom**__, doctor._'

Jonathan pondered over the reason silently, spending a good five minutes in deep thought.

Finally, his thoughts announced to his other half, '_I have no idea whatsoever._'

Scarecrow replied through an obvious mental scowl, '_Sometimes you're as useless as __**Maroni's**__ imbecilic recruits. Must I do everything __**myself**__?_'

Jonathan simply sighed audibly, understanding the Scarecrow's current temperament. After all, he shared the same anxiety; he wanted his Chelsie and her Crow to understand his feelings and return the sentiment. But Crow's mindset to love was that it was _useless_ to her, and, being a part of Chelsie, that meant both halves _shared_ the idea to some extent.

The ex-doctor needed to know their one key desire just as much as his counterpart, but he had literally _nothing_ to go on. Whether she knew it or not, Chelsie/Crow was very good at obscuring his ability to analyze her as he could normally do to others.

When Chelsie was out, she held that blank stare - never cold or warm, nor soft or hard. Sure, he could now see emotions playing behind it, but even _then_, they were only emotions she was comfortable with showing on some level.

Yes, she was alarmingly good at containing anything she didn't want her body to express, and on the one hand, it impressed him as a man of psychological studies. On the other hand, however, it was frustrating - at times _infuriating_ - when it clashed with his need to understand her.

Crow was much like Chelsie, only her gaze was full of animated mirth and mischief, the alter ego always excited by the world around her, even when everyone else was truly mundane. Her emotions otherwise were strictly guarded unless she wanted to convey them. Nothing escaped her visage to clue the doctor into her hidden feelings.

Somehow, he would have to clear the lines of communication between them so he could speak to both Chelsie and Crow about Damian.

He needed to know why Chelsie once chose the insipid boy as a mate.

* * *

The next morning, Chelsie woke up to the sunlight in her face from an open window, her eyes opening and squinting at the bright annoyance as she groaned.

Looking away toward Jonathan/Scarecrow's side of the bed briefly, she did a double-take to find them still lying there.

That much was unusual as the doctor was a morning person and would rise before her, moving along to check on his little toxin business and make sure Maroni's men were all working properly.

The brown-haired man was _awake_, she noted once the sunlight no longer blinded her.

His back rested to his pillows which were propped up against the wall, his fingers clasped behind his head, eyes turning to her slowly from their aimless stare somewhere ahead with eyebrows slightly raised inquiringly.

"Something wrong?" he asked casually.

She shrugged, muttering curiously, "Why are you still here?"

"I'm taking a day off," replied the doctor simply before looking away from the brunette.

Chelsie looked surprised; he _never_ took time off of his work just to lie around. Something was obviously off, but the stormy-eyed woman decided she would rather not bother with getting to the bottom of the matter.

* * *

'_Jonny boy is actin' awful strange,_' Crow mused as Chelsie walked their shared body to the dresser near the bathroom door.

Chelsie picked out the usual outfit - Crow's simple costume of choice - and then headed into the bathroom to change, shutting the door behind her.

'_What Jonathan does on his day off is up to __**him**__,_' she told Crow with a mental shrug of indifference. '_If he wants to tell me whatever is on his mind that made him take this day off, then I'll listen, but I otherwise see no reason to be nosy._'

'_Well, Queen of Apathy, __**I'm**__ still curious,_' Crow retorted, bothered by the doctor's strange behavior. '_It's not __**like**__ our beloved Scarecrow to let Jonny-wonny __**slack off**__, you know._'

'_Then you can come out after breakfast and play your game of twenty questions with him, Crow,_' assured Chelsie soothingly. '_**I**__, on the other hand, want to have my Fruity Cheerios in a relative __**calm**__._'

'_Sweetheart, you're about as boring as __**elevator music**__,_' returned Crow with a cackle to her own joke, jovially sinking back into the darkness.

* * *

Finished dressing, Chelsie left the bathroom, briefly noting that Jonathan was still lying in bed as she picked up her hat, adjusted it atop her wild mane and pocketed Crow's beak.

She then took off out the bedroom door without a word.

* * *

Entering the kitchen that was connected to the main room without any separating walls, the young woman got out a bowl, a spoon and the pleasantly unexpired carton of milk in the refrigerator. (Normally, she found, thugs were not appropriate for the simple retrieval of groceries. That was to say they were slightly retarded.)

Many of Jonathan/Scarecrow's men were spread around, slacking off even worse than the doctor, some of them watching a late morning talk show as they sat on the old, black leather couch.

She then looked for the box of Fruity Cheerios, going through all the cabinets until she found it on the very top shelf beside the refrigerator.

Being not so very tall, and the box so very high, her feeble attempts to capture the colorful box were in vain.

"Havin' _trouble_, sweetheart?" asked a rough voice as one particularly lean, but muscular thug leaned on the counter separating him from the brunette.

Chelsie's cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she replied softly, "Yes, actually, I _am_."

He laughed, walking around the white counter toward where the shelves were.

"What's the magic word?" he questioned teasingly.

The little brunette bristled and turned a deeper shade of red.

"_Please_?" she uttered the word, looking hopeful.

He laughed again, easily gripping the box and setting it on the counter beneath the shelves next to her other items.

"Thank you," the woman said sincerely.

"_So_," the thug began, leaning on the counter with one hand as she poured her cereal, "we don't see ya much 'round here."

Obviously, he meant they didn't see much of _Chelsie_ instead of her vivacious other half.

"I'm not normally _out_ when Jonathan's around," she gave by way of explanation, pouring milk onto the colorful, round Cheerios. "And I'm not normally given so much freedom as to leave my room whereas Crow simply picks the lock."

She shoved the milk aside, picking up her spoon and placing it in her bowl, pushing it aside as well before hopping up to sit on the counter near the thug. Then she picked up the bowl, soon taking a mouthful of cereal as she watched the brown-haired, green-eyed man intently, her eyes guarded from revealing any emotions.

Idly, she realized thugs with green eyes were _rare_ around the warehouse for some reason.

The thug remained where he was, seemingly determined to have a conversation with her as he spoke again, "So the Boss never takes ya outta the warehouse?"

"Unfortunately for me, that's a correct assessment," Chelsie answered with a pout before taking another mouthful of Fruity Cheerios.

She decided, as long as the mob-lent man was being friendly, she might as well keep the conversation rolling.

"I'd love to get _out_ of this place once in a while," began the brunette thoughtfully, "but it seems the '_Boss_' thinks I'd run away."

"_Would ya_?" asked the brown-haired man curiously before adding an afterthought. "Livin' in a hideout's no life for a pretty girl like yaself."

Chelsie contemplated his question, thoughtfully chewing her cereal. It wasn't as if she had a life to go back to, and if she ran away, the only place she could go would be her apartment. Obviously, Jonathan would look there _first_ if he really wanted to find her.

"No," she finally answered defeatedly, "I guess not."

* * *

Unbeknownst to Chelsie, Jonathan was listening from the nearby hallway.

'_She says she wouldn't leave, so perhaps a little __**faith**__ in her would be wise,_' the ex-doctor said to his Scarecrow. '_We should allow her to leave the warehouse for a while on her own._'

'_As long as she knows she can't __**escape us**__ regardless of being set loose in Gotham, I have no qualms with allowing her a taste of freedom, if that's what she desires,_' Scarecrow reasoned sensibly, glad to have this small piece of information.

Neither, however, realized how _close_ they were to the truth of that one thing Crow spoke of.

* * *

After her breakfast and small talk with the thug - whose name Chelsie now knew to be Anthony - the brunette was pulled aside by the doctor.

He told her his thoughts on allowing her loose from the warehouse, Scarecrow briefly reminding that if she tried to run away, he and the doctor would find her.

So it was soon decided that on her little venture out into Gotham, she'd also run a small errand of extracting the rest of her savings from her bank. Apparently, Jonathan thought it would be best to remove her money from any of Gotham's banks in light of the many bank robberies the city had endured; her money would be safer elsewhere, he told her.

Chelsie, agreeing with his logic, decided that would be her last task of the day.

And so, she left the warehouse that afternoon, foregoing the costume she usually wore for her old pairs of three sizes too big t-shirts, bell bottom jeans and simple white sneakers. A good chunk of money was also on her person that Jonathan had given her for her trip "just in case."

First, she visited her apartment and found the place was pretty much the same as she'd left it, though a light layer of dust had settled over everything already.

How long had she been _gone_ exactly?

Or was the place _always_ that dusty? She really couldn't remember.

She didn't even bother with dusting since she apparently didn't even _own_ a duster as she concluded after a small search for one.

Satisfied that the place was still in one piece, Chelsie left the apartment and its nostalgia, heading to the bank.

* * *

Chelsie had just finished up at the bank when men in clown masks barged in, one shooting up into the ceiling, customers screaming as if they themselves had been shot.

"Alright, everybody! Hands up, heads down!" shouted one of the robbers.

Chelsie got down to the ground, hands up as instructed. Thankfully, she'd already withdrawn her last bit of money left in the bank.

"I said hands up, heads down!" he called out again, Chelsie merely relaxing against a desk, blocking out the rest of his annoying shouts.

* * *

'_**Lovely** day for a bank robbery, I guess,_' thought the brunette idly. '_Jonathan's going to __**flip**__ when I tell him I got caught in one, though... He'll never let me leave by myself ever again._'

One of the clown-masked men was going around, she noticed, placing grenades in people's hands.

Crow laughed, '_This is __**my**__ kind of fun! If only I could get __**in**__ on it._'

'_Don't even __**think**__ about trying to intervene to be a part of the robbery, Crow,_' Chelsie warned, unapproving of the mere idea. '_You know Scarecrow would have a conniption fit if he found you __**working**__ for these guys._'

* * *

Eventually, the clown-masked man passing out those little "gifts" came over to her, placing one in her hands.

He stopped for a moment, however - the robber who had been pulling the grenade pins busy with others - his head tilted as he gazed into her vacant stare of stormy orbs.

She showed no fear, and he must have found it intriguing before he went ahead and fixed the grenade himself, as if he needed a reason to have still been there.

"What's your _name_, kiddo?" he asked the brunette, voice slightly high-pitched, though he practically was whispering to her.

"Chelsie," the woman replied in her contrasting equivalent of a speaking contralto, having no apparent qualms with offering her name.

He smiled to himself; she didn't seem to care about what was going on, or even how the other people around her were faring. Not even the grenade in her hands seemed to stir a reaction.

Too bad she didn't _smile_ more.

"Do me a, uh... _favor_," the man said, patting her cheek roughly as she just stared back boredly. "Don't get yourself _kill_-ed."

Chelsie tilted her head with one fine eyebrow quirked, "I wasn't _planning_ on it."

He laughed and left her there; although intrigued, he had business to attend to.


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** This story will soon be coming to a close to make way for the sequel.

This is the last official chapter before the epilogue.

I know there wasn't a lot of chapters to this, but the focus shifts from Jonathan/Scarecrow to the Joker, so I thought it would only be appropriate to make the transition to a sequel.

I'll announce the sequel name in the epilogue so you can easily find it on my profile if you wish to continue with the series.

Yet again, I warn you that it's becoming a Jonathan/ScarecrowxOCxJoker triangle.

I can't find many of those, so I decided that was where I would take this series. (Romance is one of the series' main genres, after all.)

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Chapter Ten - Capture**

* * *

Slipping out of Gotham First National Bank after the clowns had left and the police had arrived was rather _easy_, Chelsie realized. It was especially easy since the large school bus that had been the remaining thief's getaway car had left a huge hole in the building's façade, perfect for hastily retreating from the oncoming police vehicles. They'd all been so busy with other matters that one little bank-goer slipping out from under their noses was hardly anything to bother themselves with.

With nothing else worth doing after her little adventure, the brunette headed home, knowing full well that she would have to tell Jonathan of the bank heist.

That was, of course, if he hadn't _already_ heard of it from the news.

* * *

When she got back to the warehouse, Jonathan was waiting anxiously at the entrance and dragged her in by the wrist.

"Did you go to the bank?" he immediately demanded, turning to face her.

"...Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"And it, uh... got _robbed_," Chelsie admitted, laughing nervously as he led her deeper into the warehouse where the television set was on, the news program showcasing the robbery.

She tilted her head slightly, mouth floundering as she couldn't quite believe her own thoughts, though she finally stated them, "I'm not sure, but, uh... I think the _Joker_ told me not to get killed."

Although she probably wouldn't admit it, she was in some amount of shock from the events.

Jonathan's eyebrow quirked with interest; why would the Joker - that _madman_ - actually tell her not to get killed?

As if she heard his thoughts, Chelsie muttered, "I think my lack of fear _intrigued_ him, but he was too busy robbing the bank to pay anymore attention than patting me on the face and telling me not to die."

She sighed shakily, "What _is_ it with me and running into supervillains?"

Jonathan placed his hands to her shoulders, the brunette looking up into his blue eyes as he asked with trepidation, "Were you hurt?"

"..._No_," she replied slowly, looking over herself as if to make sure because it was no doubt hard to imagine that she ran into a second supervillain and lived to tell the tale.

* * *

Two four-by-four Humvees drove onto the third level of a multi-story parking lot in the dark of the night.

A white van sat in wait for them.

This was Scarecrow's appointment with the Chechen, a Gotham mobster who had been buying his compound.

He hadn't wanted to leave Crow and her host that night, but the appointment had already been scheduled and Chelsie had been adamant about being perfectly fine.

Once parked, the Chechen - a dark-haired, dark-eyed mob man with a mustache and beard, wearing a brown jacket - climbed out of the vehicle and looked up toward the sky where the Bat Signal shown to the nightlife clearly. It reminded each villain of Gotham, whether big-time or small, that the Batman was prowling the streets in search of anyone with unlawful intent.

"Is why we bring _dogs_," he stated, mostly to himself in an attempt to sooth his own nerves at the presence of the iconic symbol.

He then opened the trunk and fussed one of the Dobermans affectionately, "My little princes."

The back of the white van opened as one of the Chechen's men threw a terrified customer to the ground in their direction, Scarecrow's men around the van bearing guns and standing guard.

"No! Please! _Please_, they're crawling in my mouth!" cried the poor, shivering customer.

"Please! I _beg_ you," he groaned out pathetically, "get them _off_!"

"Look what your drugs do to my customers!" the Chechen shouted at the open van.

"Buyer beware," the Scarecrow warned, climbing out of the van and raising his hands, palms upturned and feigning a sense of helplessness in regards to his product. "I told you my compound would take you places."

As per usual, he wore a suit which contrasted greatly against the burlap sack on his head, Scarecrow having taken over for this little meeting.

"I never said they were places you wanted to go," he concluded, smirking to himself.

"My business. Repeat customers," shrugged the Chechen helplessly.

"You don't like what I have to offer, you can buy from someone _else_," Scarecrow reasoned unsympathetically. "Assuming Batman _left_ anyone to buy from."

The Dobermans suddenly became restless, barking and growling, the men looking around but finding nothing.

"My dogs are _hungry_!" threatened the Chechen.

The mobster then spotted a black silhouette against the city lights which appeared to be Batman.

"Pity there's only _one_ of you," the Chechen commented, everyone looking over to where the mobster was directing his words.

A shout abruptly rang out from the distance, everyone looking to see another shadowed figure. Then, another shout, someone being thrown over the rail nearby. And just like that, they were outnumbered by costumed men, the first cocking a gun and shooting at the van.

"That's not him!" Scarecrow said of the Batman impersonators, sounding disappointed as he made his way to the driver's side of the white van.

The Chechen then ordered, "Loose the dogs!"

The Dobermans were thus released, the dogs attacking the impostors.

One man came up to the Scarecrow, attempting to stop him from getting in the van, but Scarecrow simply turned around quickly, hand lifted as he easily sprayed his toxin in the man's face.

Said man fell to the floor, screaming at the horrible sights he now saw.

Then all men paused as a rumbling sounded, each one surprised as the Bat Mobile drove through a wall, impressively crushing two cars in the process.

"That's more _like_ it," said Scarecrow with a grin, now excited.

The mobsters, of course, opened fire on the armored car, wasting their ammunition like fools.

Inside the vehicle, the inbuilt computer flashed in green 'LOITER', 'LOITER'.

Suddenly, it changed to a red 'INTIMIDATE'.

The car began firing shots, all aimed where no one would be harmed, and the Chechen climbed into his four-by-four once again, driving off.

Another impostor then came out of the shadows, aiming at one of the mafia men, but a glove came from the side and bent the gun's nozzle, the man looking over only to receive a punch in the face by the _real_ Batman.

Batman took on the thugs one by one until the last dog attacked, its teeth piercing his armor and making him cry out. Still, he quickly tossed the dog aside, the Doberman landing on the floor with a whine.

* * *

'_Now **this** is what I'm __**talking**__ about,_' laughed Scarecrow to the ex-doctor, now in the driver's seat of the van. '_If only Chelsie and her Crow were here to see this..._'

* * *

The white van then spun around and hit the Batman who grabbed on with a blade from his armor, the van speeding off with vigilante hanging on.

The caped crusader simply opened a miniature saw, roughly cutting into the van's side.

Of course, Scarecrow noticed all this, so he drove the side of the van into a column, managing to knock the Batman off of the vehicle.

* * *

'_We have to get __**away**__, Scarecrow,_' Jonathan said urgently. '_We can't afford to be sent to Arkham. Chelsie and Crow __**need**__ us._'

'_I understand the gravity of the situation well __**enough**__, doctor,_' the Scarecrow replied with a growl.

But suddenly something landed on top of the van, crushing it by its weight.

'_Batman!_' shouted Jonathan in a panic.

* * *

All the impostors, remaining mobsters and, yes, the _Scarecrow_, were now tied to the railing in the parking lot.

In his raspy voice, Batman ordered the impostors, "Don't let me find you out here again!"

He then walked back to the waiting Bat Mobile.

"We're trying to _help_ you!" insisted one of the fakes.

"I don't _need_ help," the Batman growled out in return, getting into his vehicle.

"Not my diagnosis!" Scarecrow couldn't help calling out with a grin, madness in his bright blue eyes.

If he was going down, he'd be damned if wouldn't get some sort of cutting remark in; it was the least he could do to "_thank_" the caped crusader.

An impostor then questioned, "What gives you the right? What's the _difference_ between you and me?"

"I'm not wearing hockey pads," Batman explained bluntly, driving out of the parking lot.

* * *

Jonathan had taken their body back over, staring hard at the ground as everyone waited for the police to find them. He knew struggling against the restraining tape would be in vain, accepting his fate but remaining unhappy about the predicament.

'_What would __**Chelsie**__ think, the both of us getting caught so easily by the Batman?_' the doctor asked in a melancholy tone, ashamed that they'd been swiftly detained and were no match for the Batman as far as strength was concerned. '_Crow would no doubt be __**amused**__ by our mutual situation..._'

Scarecrow mentally glowered at the ex-doctor, '_The only way to __**redeem**__ ourselves is to eventually escape the authorities or break out of our asylum. But I suggest we take this time away to monitor the news... Perhaps our Crow and her host will make themselves known to Gotham._'

With a mental sigh, Jonathan replied, '_How can we __**face**__ her again? We've __**failed**__ her..._'

'_If we know our Chelsie and Crow as well as I **believe** we do,_' began his other half with conviction, '_they will undoubtedly take up our mantle while making a __**name**__ for themselves._'

He then reasoned, '_If we're __**patient**__, we may learn something __**useful**__ from their resulting behavior... Then, when we feel the moment in right, we will __**escape**__ Arkham. That should redeem us in their eyes, and we will then be able to assert them as our accomplice in crime._'

"_Chelsie_..." Jonathan trailed off aloud in deep thought over everything his alter ego had said, the eyes of the other captured men turning to him, most questioning and curious.

He ignored their silent stares, mind muttering, '_And how do you suggest we get ourselves out of __**this**__ one, considering we've never had the pleasure of escaping __**Arkham**__ before?_'

Scarecrow simply growled audibly in reply, wondering the answer himself.


	12. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **Batman is owned by DC Comics and whoever else owns it. I in no way claim it as my own; I'm just borrowing. Any OCs are mine and some of the plot that isn't from the movies is also mine.

* * *

**A/N:** First of all, thanks for all the reviews I've gotten; I really appreciate them! :)

Second, the lyric clip below the chapter title is from Breathless's _Touchstone_ which I listened to while writing this and tweaking it. I in no way claim the song or its lyrics as my own.

Anyway, small epilogue here. I know ten official chapters is short for a story, but c'est la vie!

Also, please join me for the sequel which will be titled _Queen Takes Pawn_.

The sequel will have a lot of the Joker and some more events from TDK.

By the way, in case you don't know what a touchstone is:

Touchstone - _n._ - Standard: a basis for comparison; a reference point against which other things can be evaluated; an excellent quality or example that is used to test the excellence or genuineness of others; a means by which individuals are compared and judged.

I thought it was a beautiful way to refer to another person who is dear to you.

Forgive me if it's too mushy.

* * *

**As The Crow Flies**

_**by Syrenia**_

* * *

**Epilogue - South**

* * *

_What kind of home is this?  
What kind of home is this?  
I don't know  
I don't care what time of day it is_

_..._

_Heaven knows where all this goes  
Wasted thoughts that find no words  
Are you listening?  
Are you listening?_

_..._

_And measure out the sanity that falls into lunacy  
Hung bittersweet, faded and lost_

~ Breathless - Touchstone

* * *

Arkham. Oh, Arkham. How fitting that he be placed in _his_ asylum.

Two days in, however, he noticed the changes which irked him to no end. Suddenly, the patients were given more freedom and attempts at rehabilitation.

'_Rehabilitation?_' he thought incredulously upon hearing this news. '_Patients don't __**rehabilitate**__, you fools!_'

But why should he bother to correct the error of their ways?

* * *

Days became weeks and he found only one thing he truly missed. Scarecrow missed scaring people, of course, but even _that_ thrilling thought no longer stirred anything within Jonathan. All he could think about was _her_. What she was doing, who she was with, how she felt - those were the questions he wondered over in his lengthy alone time.

When his psychiatrist would come to chat and assess the remnants of his sanity, he refused to talk about anything but _her_ - only _her_ and nothing else.

* * *

"What does she look like?" Dr. Grayson finally asked, prepared to take notes.

"Soft, thick, long, wild, dark brown hair and almond-shaped, stormy blue-grey eyes," Jonathan replied with his eyes closed, visualizing her. "Heart-shaped face; small, button nose; big, pink lips; thin, curved, dark brown eyebrows... Soft, pale, white skin. Long, slender fingers on small, fragile hands with long, scratching, black nails. Curvy body with a pierced naval and a numeric pi tattoo on the small of her back."

He went on, in a trance with his imagination, "She's wearing leopard print pajamas and slippers and--"

"I think that will be _enough_, Mr. Crane," the doctor cut him off rudely, Scarecrow snarling at him in the back of Jonathan's mind. "What would you like to say about her today that isn't _graphic_ in any manner whatsoever?"

"I miss her," the wayward doctor muttered so low that only Scarecrow and himself could hear it.

After an intermission of silence, the doctor asked as he flipped through his files, "How did your obsession with this... _Chelsie_ begin?"

"I was in her apartment. Neither of us really knew the implications of my name - what I'd done - but I knew I couldn't be seen in public," Jonathan explained, deciding he might as well tell the truth as he had nothing to lose. "I was stuck in her apartment every day, most spent getting to know her. Subtle, _one-sided_ things began to happen. I touched her a little too long - stared at her a little too much. But she didn't see it because she's so _naive_..."

He sighed at the memories, "She would leave sometimes and I thought I could do things to make her stay. I did things I thought would make her happy, but ended up being... _disasters_..."

"Such as?" Grayson inquired with interest, leaning back in his chair.

"The first time, I cleaned her apartment's main room," Jonathan told him, smirking at the memory. "She came home, saw the clean room, dropped her purse and shouted. She asked what I did before throwing things everywhere, chanting, "_Messy, messy, messy_!" And when she was done, she looked at me with chaos in her eyes and shouted, "Reverse neat freak!""

"Messes make her feel safe. Clean spaces make her feel paranoid," he explained to his psychiatrist. "How was _I_ to know?"

The other doctor quirked a brow and asked, "And the _second_ time?"

"I beat the highscore of her favorite video game," Jonathan recalled. "Instead of looking happy when I told her, she frowned. It turned out that that highscore was the only accomplishment she felt she had in life and I _destroyed_ it... But she faked a smile and said she'd just have to beat my score... She locked herself in her room for _days_ afterward."

"_Another_ time," Grayson prompted.

Jonathan didn't like reviewing his mistakes, but obliged, "Her stupid, pathetic boyfriend of the time wouldn't listen to me, so I held a knife to his throat... She came home, saw us, and they had a fight. I don't regret that. I regret _scaring_ her afterward... but I don't want to talk about that."

"What is Chelsie to you?" asked Crane's doctor, eager to write something down.

"She's my touchstone," Jonathan answered simply.

Scarecrow answered aloud as well, "She's my crow."

Together, and in complete _harmony_ for once, they concluded, "She's my _everything_."

* * *

While Jonathan and Scarecrow were _away_, Chelsie suddenly became the liaison between him and the mob of whom she still had dealings seeing as she still had Maroni's borrowed men.

She was left in charge because of orders Jonathan had given prior to his incarceration, advising that she was the second most knowledgeable person regarding the toxin. Such was a _lie_, but it was her only defense against being devoured by the mob, so she _clung_ to it.

Crow was now in charge.

And the path to villainess status was south as the crow flies for Chelsie Alice Crow.


End file.
